The Iron Horse

‘But not with the same gentleman, I take it.’

‘No, sir.’

‘Who was her husband on that occasion?’

‘I’d hate you to think that our hotel caters for such irregular alliances,’ said Radley with a simpering smile. ‘Most of our guests are highly respectable. We attract only the cream of society. They value the facilities we can offer.’ He leant forward. ‘It was pure chance that I recognised this particular young lady.’

‘With whom was she staying?’ prompted Colbeck.

‘Lord Hendry.’

CHAPTER SEVEN

Standing in front of the fireplace, Lord George Hendry gazed at the painting with gathering excitement as if seeing it for the first time. It had been an expensive commission but he felt that the money had been well spent on a superb example of equine portraiture. Odysseus looked astonishingly lifelike, ready to leap off the canvas and parade in style around the paddock. The chestnut colt had the unmistakable look of a born winner. Its owner was so enraptured that he did not hear his wife hobble into the library on a walking stick. Lady Caroline Hendry gave a pained smile.

‘I still think that you’re making a mistake,’ she remarked.

He swung round. ‘What’s that?’

‘You’re counting your chickens before they’re hatched, George.’

‘I’m admiring a Derby winner,’ he said proudly, ‘that’s all.’

‘But the horse has not yet won the race.’

‘I have complete faith in Odysseus.’

‘I’m sure that every other owner has complete faith in his horse as well,’ she said, ‘but none of them would dare to celebrate a triumph that had never actually taken place.’

‘You know nothing about racing, Caroline.’

‘I know that the favourite does not always win.’

‘This one will.’

‘How can you be so definite?’

‘Because of what happened,’ he said, moving across to help her onto a settee. ‘Sit down a moment, my dear. I can see it’s not one of your better days.’ He sat beside her. ‘I wasn’t going to tell you this in case it upset you but I think you should perhaps know the truth. There’s been an incident near the stables.’

‘What kind of incident?’

‘Someone tried to disable Odysseus.’

‘George!’ she exclaimed in horror.

‘The attempt was foiled,’ he assured her, ‘so don’t be alarmed. I reported the incident to the police and uniformed officers will protect the horse when we move him to Epsom. At the moment, he’s being closely guarded at the stables.’

‘I hadn’t realised that Odysseus was in any danger.’

‘It’s one of the penalties of being a favourite, Caroline. And it’s clear proof,’ he went on, indicating the painting, ‘that this year’s Derby winner is hanging on the wall. If Odysseus were not feared, nobody would try to put him out of the race.’

‘Supposing that they try again?’ she asked.

‘We’ll be ready for them.’

‘Do you have any idea who was behind the incident?’

‘The choice has to be between Hamilton Fido and Brian Dowd,’ he said. ‘Each owns another fancied horse. Their only hope of success is to have Odysseus eliminated in some way.’

‘Did you give those names to the police?’

‘Of course I did. My own feeling is that Dowd is the snake in the grass. He stands to gain most if Odysseus fails to run. Limerick Lad is the second favourite. I’ve dealt with Brian Dowd before,’ he said with asperity. ‘I wouldn’t trust that crafty Irishman for a second.’

‘What was the other name you mentioned?’

‘Hamilton Fido.’

‘I thought it sounded familiar. You’ve spoken of him before. Didn’t you tell me that one of his horses was a Derby winner?’

‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘Galliard won by two lengths from Highland Chief. My own horse that year came in third so I have a score to settle with Fido. He’s putting a filly in the race, Merry Legs, and she’ll never test Odysseus or even put Limerick Lad under any real pressure. Fido must know in his heart that he can never win. No,’ he decided, ‘on balance, the man behind the attack on us simply has to be Dowd. If my horse does not run, his will take the honours. He suborned some villain to snuff out my chances of winning the Derby.’

‘Then why don’t the police arrest him?’

‘They say that they need clear evidence.’

‘Racing seems such a hazardous world,’ she said with a sigh. ‘Why does it attract so many undesirable characters?’

He chortled. ‘Since when have I been undesirable?’

‘I was not referring to you, George. I was thinking of all the problems associated with the sport. It’s mired in scandal.’

‘Great efforts are being made to clean up racing,’ he said with easy pomposity. ‘I was called upon to offer my advice as how it might happen. One obvious way, of course, is to exclude members of the lower orders from entering horses in major races – social inferiors like Fido and Dowd, for instance. They don’t belong, Caroline.’

‘I’m so glad that I don’t have to rub shoulders with people like that. My charity work may not be as exhilarating as watching a horse race but I do have the pleasure of working with kindred spirits.’

‘So do I – most of the time.’

‘There won’t be many archdeacons at the Derby.’

‘That’s where you’re wrong, my dear,’ he said. ‘Men of the cloth are as addicted to the event as anyone else. We’ll have prelates galore on Derby Day and there’ll be more than one bishop placing a shrewd bet on the race. If you don’t believe me, come and see for yourself.’

‘No, thank you, George – you know how much I hate crowds.’

‘You ought to be there for Odysseus’s crowning moment.’

‘Tell me about it after the race,’ she said.

‘There’s still time for you to profit from it, Caroline. I was not joking when I said that you could put a wager on my horse. It’s a sure passport to making money.’

‘But I don’t want to make money,’ she said firmly, ‘especially not in that way. I’ve always regarded gambling as rather vulgar. It’s the resort of those who want something for nothing.’

‘It’s a reward for risk,’ he explained. ‘If people are bold enough to venture a tidy sum on a horse, they have the right to enjoy the winnings. What’s vulgar about that?’

‘It’s something I could never lower myself to, George.’

‘Try – just this once.’

‘No, I’m sorry. I can’t.’

‘Wouldn’t you even consider giving me a loan so that I can place a bet on your behalf?’ She sat up with righteous indignation and he retreated quickly. ‘No, no, that was a foolish suggestion. I take it back. Your money is your own and you must be the sole arbiter of how and when it is spent.’

‘That’s exactly what I intend to be.’

‘I’ll importune you no more,’ he said apologetically. ‘Besides, I don’t need further capital. I’ve already placed a substantial bet on Odysseus.’ He glanced up at the painting. ‘I expect him to win by at least three clear lengths.’

‘Then I’ll be the first to congratulate you.’

‘Thank you, Caroline.’

He touched her hand with distant affection. Having no more money of his own to invest in Odysseus, he had hoped to be able to charm some additional cash from her even though he knew how unlikely that would be. He seethed inwardly at her rejection. Why could his wife have an urge to subsidise a lunatic asylum while denying her own husband the benefit of her wealth? It was unjust.

‘George,’ she said quietly.

‘Yes, my dear.’

‘That incident you told me about – it alarms me.’

‘I choose to see it as the ultimate seal of approval.’

She was puzzled. ‘Approval?’

‘It’s startling confirmation from one of my rivals that Odysseus is the undisputed favourite. Since he can’t be beaten in a fair race, someone did his best to take him out of it.’

‘I’m afraid that you might be in jeopardy.’

‘No, my dear – Odysseus and his jockey are the targets.’

‘And you say they’ll be protected by the police?’

‘Security will be very tight from now on.’

‘Good.’ Struggling to her feet, she crossed to the fireplace and looked up at Odysseus. Her husband came to stand beside her. She turned to him. ‘Do you really believe he can win?’

‘I do, Caroline,’ he replied, trying to keep a note of desperation out of his voice. ‘Odysseus must win. Everything depends upon it.’

‘Stay where you are!’ ordered the man. ‘Or I’ll blow your brains out.’

It was not the welcome that Victor Leeming had expected when he stepped down from the cab and walked up the drive. As soon as the sergeant reached one of the outbuildings, a burly individual jumped out to confront him with a shotgun. Staring at the gleaming barrels, Leeming elected to comply with the instruction. The guard ran an unflattering eye over him.

‘What’s your name, you ugly bugger?’ he demanded.

‘Detective Sergeant Leeming from Scotland Yard.’

The man sniggered. ‘Oh, is that right? Well, if you’re a detective, I’m the Angel Bleeding Gabriel.’ He jabbed the weapon at Leeming. ‘Tell me your real name, you lying devil.’

‘I just did.’

‘Now you’re provoking me, aren’t you?’

‘What’s going on, Seamus?’ called a voice.

Brian Dowd ambled down the drive to see what was causing the commotion. Leeming showed proof of his identity and explained that he had come at the instigation of Robert Colbeck.

‘Why didn’t he come himself?’ asked Dowd.

‘He had to make enquiries elsewhere – at Mr Fido’s stables.’

‘That’s where the trouble started, Sergeant. John Feeny was murdered by one of Hamilton Fido’s henchmen and they sent me the lad’s head to frighten me – but I don’t frighten that easy.’

‘I do,’ admitted Leeming, keenly aware that the shotgun was still pointed at him. ‘Could you please persuade your friend here to put his weapon away?’ Dowd gave a nod and Seamus withdrew into the nearest building. ‘Thank you, sir – I appreciate that.’

‘Nobody gets close to Limerick Lad,’ said Dowd.

‘I was hoping that I might.’

‘You?’

‘It’s one of the reasons I was glad to be sent here, sir. I know nothing about horses but I do like a flutter on the Derby. The problem is that I’m very confused,’ he went on. ‘Lord Hendry assured us that Odysseus would be first past the post but, when we met Mr Fido earlier today, I had the impression he felt his own horse would win.’

‘Merry Legs doesn’t have a prayer.’

‘What about Odysseus?’

Dowd was positive. ‘Second place behind Limerick Lad.’

‘Inspector Colbeck said that you’d commend your horse.’

‘I don’t commend him, Sergeant – I believe in him.’

Turning on his heel, he led his visitor round to the yard. There were a dozen stalls in all and most of them seemed to be occupied. Outside one of them, a groom was cleaning a racing saddle. As the lad bent forward, Leeming noticed that he had a gun tucked into his belt.

‘Are all your employees armed, sir?’ he asked.

‘After what happened with John Feeny, I’m taking no chances.’

‘Very wise.’

‘Did Inspector Colbeck manage to find the boy’s uncle?’

‘Yes – the deceased was formally identified by a blood relation.’

‘It’s not the deceased who needs to be identified but the fiend who killed him and the man who paid him to do it.’

‘We know your opinion on that subject, sir.’

‘Then arrest Mr Fido and beat the truth out of him.’

He stopped beside one of the stalls and his manner changed at once. Limerick Lad was a bay colt with a yellowish tinge to his coat. Dowd looked at him with paternal pride.

‘There he is – the next winner of the Derby.’

Hearing the trainer’s voice, the animal raised his head from the bucket of water and came across to the door. He nuzzled up against Dowd then let out a loud whinny. Leeming was fascinated. He had never been so close to a thoroughbred horse before and he marvelled at the colt’s sleek lines and perfect proportions. The sense of latent power in Limerick Lad was thrilling. Leeming had only heard about the other two potential winners of the Derby. Now he was inches away from the one horse who could challenge them and it made him think again about where he should place his money. He was touched by the affection between horse and trainer. Brian Dowd patently loved his colt but it was equally obvious that he had subjected it to a strict training regime. Limerick Lad was in prime condition.

‘Breeding,’ said Dowd, stroking the animal’s neck. ‘That’s what’s paramount in horseracing – good breeding. Limerick Lad is by Piscator out of Cornish Lass, who ran second in the Oaks. Piscator won the Derby and the St Leger. Do you see what I mean, Sergeant?’ he said. ‘There’s a family tradition to maintain. Limerick Lad comes from the very best stock.’

Leeming was entranced. ‘I can see that, Mr Dowd.’

‘He won’t let us down.’

‘I’m sure he won’t, sir.’

The trainer gave his horse a final pat on the neck before leading his visitor a few paces away. Then he looked Leeming in the eye.

‘Why exactly did you come here?’ he asked.

‘Inspector Colbeck thought that, as a courtesy, you should be kept up to date with our investigation.’

‘That was very considerate of him. I’ll be interested to hear what progress you’ve made so far.’

‘It’s been slow but steady, Mr Dowd.’

Leeming explained what the Detective Department had been doing. On the journey back from Bethnal Green, he had been schooled by Colbeck to release certain facts while holding others back. At the mention of Hamilton Fido’s name, Dowd scowled but held his tongue. The sergeant gauged his reactions throughout.

‘Inspector Colbeck made one suggestion,’ he said, ‘and I must confess that it would never have occurred to me.’

‘What might that be?’

‘That, in fact, Mr Fido is in no way implicated in the murder.’

‘He has to be!’ cried Dowd. ‘John Feeny worked at his stables.’

‘You’ve jumped to the obvious conclusion, sir, as you were meant to do. But supposing that both you and Mr Fido are incidental victims of this crime?’

‘Fido as a victim – impossible!’

‘The inspector thinks otherwise,’ said Leeming. ‘Since there’s bad blood between you and Mr Fido, he wonders if someone is trying to heat it up even more. A third party might have set out to stoke up the mutual antagonism in order to have you snarling insults at each other. That would distract the pair of you from the important job of preparing your horses for the Derby.’

Dowd was adamant. ‘The man you want is Hamilton Fido,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘Over the last couple of years, my horses have consistently beaten his. He’s not the kind of man to take that lying down. He had to hit back and he used John Feeny to do it. There’s something you ought to know, Sergeant,’ he continued. ‘The reason that Limerick Lad will win the Derby is not simply because he’s the finest horse in the field. He has the best jockey on his back – Tim Maguire. I’ve lost count of the number of times that Mr Fido has tried to poach Tim so that he’ll ride in his colours.’

‘There’s nothing illegal in that, sir. Every owner would like to have the best jockey riding for him.’

‘Only one would offer a huge bribe to make sure that my colt lost the race. That’s what was dangled in front of Tim Maguire – five hundred pounds to pull Limerick Lad out of the reckoning.’

‘Five hundred!’ Leeming whistled in amazement. ‘Do you know who made the offer?’

‘Hamilton Fido.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘The letter was unsigned,’ said Dowd, reaching inside his coat, ‘but I’m sure it had Mr Fido’s name on it in invisible ink. Since he couldn’t have Tim in the saddle on Merry Legs, he wanted to make use of him another way.’

‘That’s a very serious allegation, Mr Dowd.’

‘Read the letter for yourself.’

‘Thank you,’ said Leeming, taking it from him and unfolding the paper. The letter was short but explicit. He read it in seconds. ‘This is evidence, sir – may I keep it?’

‘Please do, Sergeant.’

‘I take it that Maguire was not tempted.’

‘Tim rides for me and nobody else,’ boasted Dowd. ‘When he sent that letter, there was something about my jockey that Hamilton Fido obviously didn’t know.’

‘And what was that, sir?’

‘He has the same problem as John Feeny.’

‘Problem?’

‘He’s illiterate. You don’t need to be able to read in order to ride a horse. All you have to do is to recognise a winning post when you see one. The joke is on Mr Fido,’ said Dowd with a grim chuckle. ‘When he received that letter, Tim Maguire didn’t have a clue that he was being offered a bribe.’

When he saw Hamilton Fido for the second time that day, Robert Colbeck was not given as cordial a welcome. The bookmaker was at his stables, talking to his trainer, Alfred Stenton, a bear-like man in his forties with a grizzled beard and tiny deep-set eyes. They looked up as the detective approached them across the yard. Stenton showed curiosity but Fido’s face registered annoyance until he concealed it behind his practised smile.

‘We meet again, Inspector,’ he said.

‘I remembered your saying that you’d be coming here this afternoon,’ said Colbeck. ‘Have you established yet how John Feeny got a job here when he’d been in the employ of your fiercest rival?’

‘Alfred explained that to me.’

He introduced the trainer and Stenton took over. He had a deep voice, a slow delivery and a bluff manner. Hands on hips, he stood with his legs planted wide apart.

‘Don’t blame me,’ he said stoutly. ‘I’d no idea that the lad had worked for Brian Dowd. He told me he came from Cork where he’d been a groom for three years. One of my boys had a nasty accident so I needed a replacement. John Feeny came along at the right time.’

Colbeck wanted to hear more. ‘A nasty accident?’

‘He was kicked by a horse, Inspector – broke his leg.’

‘Was there anything suspicious about it?’

The trainer shook his head. ‘If you want to know the truth, the lad deserved what he got. He’d been drinking heavily and he knew I didn’t allow beer at the stables. You need a clear head when you’re dealing with racehorses,’ said Stenton. ‘They can be a real handful if you get on the wrong side of them. He was grooming Bold Buccaneer and slapped him on the rump. That was asking for trouble.’

‘How did John Feeny know there was a vacancy here?’

‘A friend recommended him.’

‘Someone from the stables?’ said Colbeck.

‘Yes, Inspector,’ replied Stenton. ‘Ned Kyle, one of my jockeys, spoke up for him. They grew up together in Cork.’

‘Why didn’t Kyle warn you?’ asked Fido angrily. ‘He must have known about Feeny’s link with Dowd.’

‘He swears that he didn’t,’ said the trainer, ‘and I took him at his word. Ned is as honest as the day is long. He’d not deceive me. In any case, he and John Feeny hadn’t seen each other for years. How could Ned possibly know where he’d been working?’

‘Feeny was unlikely to tell him,’ observed Colbeck. ‘He knew he’d never get a job here if Brian Dowd’s name was mentioned.’

Stenton snorted. ‘I’d have thrown him out on his ear.’

‘He winkled his way in here to spy,’ said Fido.

‘It doesn’t look that way,’ said Colbeck. ‘It seems that he only got the job by default. If another groom hadn’t been kicked by a horse, John Feeny would still be looking for work.’

‘That’s my view as well,’ said Stenton.

‘On the other hand, someone knew about Feeny’s past.’

‘What do you mean, Inspector?’

‘A couple of letters were sent to Jerry Doyle, a lad at Mr Dowd’s stables. Since Feeny couldn’t write, he must have got a friend to pen the letters for him.’

‘Someone from here,’ said Fido vengefully. ‘Ned Kyle, perhaps.’

‘He’d never do such a thing,’ argued Stenton.

‘Maybe we have another spy in the camp.’

‘I’d like a word with Kyle, if I may,’ said Colbeck.

‘I’ll see if I can find him for you, Inspector,’ said Stenton, moving off. ‘But I’ll tell you right now – Ned is as clean as a whistle.’

The trainer walked away and left the two men alone.

‘It looks as if someone let you down, Mr Fido,’ began Colbeck. ‘When I arrived here, you were patently surprised to see me. Nobody warned you of my visit this time.’

‘After this morning’s meeting,’ said Fido, ‘I didn’t think that we had anything more to say to each other.’

‘There have been developments, sir.’

‘Oh?’

‘Your informant at Scotland Yard is obviously unaware of them so I felt it my duty to pass on the information myself. Lord Hendry reported an incident related to the Derby.’

‘In what way?’

‘Someone did his best to cause Odysseus serious injury.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Fido blandly.

‘Luckily, the attempt was thwarted.’

‘Why are you telling me, Inspector? You surely can’t believe that I’m in any way culpable.’

‘I make no assumptions, sir.’

‘Lord Hendry pointed the finger at me – is that it?’

‘Your name was mentioned to the superintendent.’

‘I’m astounded that he didn’t have posters printed with a picture of me as the wanted man,’ said Fido with a laugh. ‘Every time there’s a crime or a misdemeanour on a racecourse, Lord Hendry accuses me.’

‘Brian Dowd was also named as a suspect.’

‘Then he’s nearer the mark there.’

‘There doesn’t appear to be any mutual respect in the world of horseracing,’ said Colbeck with disapproval. ‘Does the concept of friendly rivalry mean nothing to you?’

Fido was amused. ‘Not if you want to be a winner,’ he said flatly. ‘All’s fair in love and racing, Inspector. What about your world? Do you regard criminals as no more than friendly rivals?’

‘I take your point, sir.’

‘There’s no virtue in being a gallant loser.’

‘Let me change the subject,’ said Colbeck, glancing around the yard where several people were busy at work. ‘Though you might wish to continue this discussion where we can have a little more privacy.’

‘Why?’

‘I have to touch on a more personal matter.’

‘Touch away,’ said Fido, spreading his arms invitingly. ‘I’ve nothing to hide.’

‘Then perhaps you’d be good enough to confirm that you stayed at the Wyvern Hotel in London recently.’

Fido bristled. ‘What sort of question is that, Inspector?’

‘A pertinent one, sir.’

‘I often stay at hotels in the city.’

‘The one that interests me is the Wyvern – just off the Strand.’

‘I can’t say that I remember staying there,’ said Fido.

‘You’re a very distinctive figure,’ Colbeck pointed out. ‘Had you visited the hotel, the staff would doubtless recognise you again. And, of course,’ he went on, ‘your name would be in the hotel register. In fact, I have it on good authority that that is so.’

‘In that case, I suppose I must have spent a night there.’

‘You and your companion, sir.’

Fido smiled. ‘I’ve always been a sociable fellow.’

‘You were not very sociable on this occasion, it seems. When a hatbox was stolen from your room, you upbraided the hotel staff and demanded restitution.’ The bookmaker’s smile froze. ‘The hatbox later turned up at Crewe with John Feeny’s head in it, so you’ll understand why we have such an interest in your hotel accommodation on that particular night.’

‘What are you after, Inspector?’

‘The name of the lady with whom you were staying, sir.’

‘It has no relevance whatsoever to your investigation.’

‘Let me be the judge of that, Mr Fido.’

‘The lady was the victim of a crime.’

‘Then it should have been reported to the police.’

‘There was no need,’ said Fido. ‘The manager had the sense to accept responsibility and offer compensation. As far as we were concerned, the matter was closed.’

Colbeck was tenacious. ‘It falls to me to reopen it,’ he said. ‘I believe that there may have been a specific reason why that particular hatbox was stolen. It’s therefore important that I know the name of the person who owned it.’

Fido lowered his voice. ‘Are you married, Inspector?’

‘No, sir, I’m a bachelor.’

‘So am I,’ confided the other. ‘We are two of a kind – single gentlemen who take their pleasures where they find them and who protect the identity of any lady involved. Such conduct will inevitably attract condemnation from those of more puritanical disposition but, I’m glad to say, it’s not an offence that’s found its way into the statute book. If it had, some of our most distinguished politicians – the late Duke of Wellington among them – would have been liable to arrest.’

‘I’m not here to discuss the duke’s indiscretions.’

‘Mine are equally outside your purview, Inspector.’

‘I require the name of that young lady.’

‘And I decline to give it to you.’

‘That’s tantamount to obstructing the police,’ warned Colbeck.

‘I prefer to see it as the act of a gentleman.’

‘Your definition of gentlemanly behaviour does not accord with mine, Mr Fido. I thought you were keen for this crime to be solved.’

‘I am,’ asserted the other. ‘I want the killer brought to justice.’

‘Then why refuse to cooperate? John Feeny lost his life in the most grisly way. My job,’ said Colbeck, ‘is to gather every conceivable scrap of evidence. Consequently, I would like to speak to the young lady with whom you stayed at the Wyvern Hotel.’

‘I can relay your questions to her, Inspector.’

‘That will not suffice.’

‘Then you are going to be disappointed.’

‘Are you ashamed of the lady for some reason?’

‘No,’ rejoined Fido, ‘and I resent your insinuation. I do not need to buy a lady’s favours, Inspector Colbeck. Strange as it may seem, I happen to believe in romance. Do you know what that means?’

‘Of course, sir,’ said Colbeck, thinking fondly of Madeleine Andrews. ‘Being a member of the Metropolitan Police Force does not make us oblivious to emotion.’

‘Then see it from my point of view. If a young lady had put the ultimate trust in you, would you break that trust by revealing her identity?’

‘Probably not.’

‘We agree on something at last.’

‘Not exactly, sir,’ said Colbeck, ‘but I spy a way out of this dilemma. Approach the lady yourself and explain the situation in which we find ourselves. Tell her that she can contact me at Scotland Yard and that I will treat everything she says in strict confidence. Who knows?’ he asked meaningfully. ‘It may well be that she is more anxious for this murder to be solved than you seem to be.’

Kitty Lavender was in her bedroom, seated in front of the dressing table and looking in the mirror as she fastened her diamond earrings in place. When she heard a knock on the door, she went through to the drawing room to see who her visitor might be. Opening the door, she was taken aback to see Marcus Johnson standing there with a warm and mischievous smile.

‘I thought we were going to keep out of each other’s way for a while,’ she said. ‘What brought you here?’

‘A hansom cab.’

‘Don’t jest, Marcus.’

‘I came on the off-chance of catching you in,’ he said, doffing his hat. ‘Your landlady recognised me and let me into the house.’

‘In that case, you’d better come in.’

Kitty stood back so that he could go past her then she closed the door behind her. She was not sure if she was pleased to see him. Her half-brother tended to vanish from her life for long periods then surface when he needed money or help or both. Kitty wondered what he was after this time.

The drawing room was large, well proportioned and filled with exquisite Regency furniture. Long, gilt-framed mirrors had been artfully used to make the room seem even bigger than it was. Fresh flowers stood in a vase. Marcus Johnson looked around.

‘I always like coming here,’ he said. ‘I just wish that I could afford a suite of rooms like this.’

‘You’re a nomad. You never stay in one place long enough.’

‘That’s true – though this house would tempt me.’

‘It was recommended to me by a close friend.’

He grinned. ‘I won’t ask his name,’ he said, putting his hat down on a table. ‘Well, I won’t stay long, Kitty. I just wanted the pleasure of seeing the look of amazement on your face.’

‘Why should I be amazed?’

‘Because I’ve not come to borrow money from you.’

‘That’s a relief,’ she said.

‘In fact, I’m here to do the exact opposite.’ Thrusting a hand into his coat pocket, he extracted a pile of banknotes. ‘I’m going to repay in full what I owe you.’

‘Marcus!’ she exclaimed.

‘You see? I knew that you’d gasp with disbelief.’

‘It’s so…unexpected.’

‘Be honest, Kitty,’ he said with a laugh. ‘I’m your half-brother. You’ve no need to mince words with me. It’s not only unexpected, it’s totally uncharacteristic. Marcus Johnson is one of Nature’s borrowers. Until today, that is.’ He waved the banknotes. ‘Go on – take them.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘They’re not forgeries.’

‘Even so,’ she said, hesitating.

He laughed again. ‘Am I held in such low esteem that you do not believe I could acquire the money honestly? I have to disappoint you,’ he went on. ‘I neither robbed a bank nor dressed up as a highwayman to waylay an unsuspecting coach. I won at cards, Kitty. I had a run of luck at the card table last night that was unprecedented. And that, my dear sister, is how I’m able to pay off my debt to you.’

‘Thank you, Marcus,’ she said, taking the money and the kiss that came with it. ‘But do not fritter away the rest of your winnings.’

‘No sermons, please – I know when to stop.’

‘Then your judgement has improved.’

‘I’ve put youthful impetuosity behind me,’ he declared, ‘where gambling is concerned, anyway. When it comes to beautiful women, however, it’s a different matter. In that regard, I’m ever prey to impulsive action.’

‘Does that mean you have someone in mind?’

‘I have a dozen ladies in mind, Kitty!’

‘For marriage or for pleasure?’

‘I’m not the marrying kind,’ he said airily. ‘I ventured into holy matrimony once and found it a most inhibiting place to be. I like the freedom of the open road. You were right. I’m essentially a nomad.’

‘How long will you be staying in London?’

‘That depends how well I do during Derby Week.’

‘What happens if your run of luck continues?’

‘Then I’ll probably spend the summer in Paris.’

‘And if you lose at Epsom?’

‘I’ll be back to borrow that money off you again.’

‘It’s no longer available,’ she told him, slipping it into the drawer of a mahogany side-table. ‘The kindest thing I can do is to refuse you any more loans. That will make you stand on your own feet.’

‘I think I’ve finally learnt to do that, Kitty.’

‘I sincerely hope so.’

‘Well,’ he said, collecting his hat, ‘now that I’ve settled my debts, I’ll be on my way. Unless, of course, those keen ears of yours picked up something from Hamilton Fido.’

‘I haven’t even seen him since we last met.’

‘Make a point of doing so.’

‘He’s too preoccupied with the Derby.’

‘Surely he’s taking you to Epsom on his arm.’

‘Yes, he loves to display me.’

‘You’re a jewel among women, Kitty. He wears you with pride. But don’t forget me, will you? Last-minute information is the best kind. I can place my heaviest bet immediately before the race.’ He winked at her. ‘Can I count on your help?’

‘I don’t like to be pestered, Marcus.’

‘Blood is thicker than water.’

‘As you wish,’ she said with a tired smile. ‘I’ll see what I can find out from Hamilton. How will I get in touch with you?’

‘You won’t need to,’ he told her, ‘because I’ll get in touch with you. Thank you again for the loan of that money.’ He kissed her on both cheeks. ‘Take my advice and grow accustomed to the notion that your half-brother will soon be a very wealthy man.’

The Shepherd and Shepherdess was a half-timbered inn, situated on the bank of a river. Built almost three hundred years earlier, it served the needs of the village and also attracted customers from further afield. Since it was only a couple of miles from the stables, it did not take Robert Colbeck long to get there. When they reached the inn, the inspector clambered out of the cab and told the driver to wait.

‘How long will you be, guv’nor?’ asked the man.

‘Long enough,’ said Colbeck, understanding the question.

The man jumped quickly down from the cab, tethered his horse and went into the bar to slake his thirst. Colbeck bought drinks for both of them before introducing himself to the landlord. He asked if he might speak to Bonny Rimmer and, moments later, a short, pretty, dark-haired, rosy-cheeked young woman came into the bar, wiping her hands on her apron. She was plainly terrified at having been summoned by a detective from Scotland Yard. After trying to put her at ease with a few pleasantries, Colbeck requested that they move to somewhere other than the bar. Still apprehensive, Bonny took him to a little room at the rear. As they sat down together, Colbeck put his glass of brandy on the table.

‘I believe you know a jockey named Ned Kyle,’ he said.

‘Yes, sir,’ she replied. ‘He often comes in here.’

‘I’ve just spoken to him at the stables. He struck me as an honest, straightforward person. Would you agree?’

‘Oh, I would. Ned is a good man. He never causes trouble.’

‘Does that mean some of the others do?’

‘They get a bit excited, that’s all,’ said Bonny nervously.

‘What about John Feeny?’

She brightened immediately. ‘John?’

‘Was he rather boisterous at times?’

‘No, sir,’ she replied, ‘he’s always quiet, is John. He likes his beer, mind you – they all do – but he doesn’t have the money to drink too much. That’ll change when he becomes a jockey, though. He might even earn as much as Ned.’

Colbeck felt a surge of pity for her. She was talking as if John Feeny were still alive and about to fulfil his ambitions. When he had spoken to Ned Kyle at the stables, the inspector had learnt two things. The first was that Kyle was completely unaware of his friend’s link with Brian Dowd and the second concerned Bonny Rimmer. During his visits to the inn, John Feeny and the barmaid had developed a close friendship.

From the way she talked about him, it was clear that she was in love with the Irishman. It was equally clear that she believed she would soon see him again. Colbeck had not bought the drink for himself. He moved it across to her before he spoke.

‘I have some sad news to pass on, Miss Rimmer,’ he said.

‘What about?’

‘John Feeny.’

She tensed. ‘Has he been arrested?’

‘It’s rather more serious than that, I’m afraid.’

‘He’s been injured?’

‘John Feeny is dead,’ said Colbeck gently, steadying her with a hand as she reeled from the news. ‘He was murdered.’

Bonny Rimmer was stunned. Her mouth fell open, her eyes darted wildly and her whole body trembled. When she began to sob convulsively, Colbeck provided her with a handkerchief and a consoling arm. Since she was in no state to hear the full details of the crime, he decided to keep them from her. He waited until she was over the worst of the shock, then he held the brandy to her lips.

‘Drink some of this,’ he coaxed. ‘It might help you.’

Bonny consented to take a sip. She pulled a face at the sharp taste of the brandy but it helped to bring her to her senses. Of her own volition, she took a second, longer sip before turning her watery eyes on Colbeck.

‘Who could possibly want to harm John?’ she asked.

‘That’s what I’m trying to find out, Miss Rimmer, and I’m hoping that you might be able to assist me.’ She shrugged hopelessly. ‘Ned Kyle told me that you and John were good friends. Is that true?’ She nodded. ‘According to him, John was always talking about you at the stables.’

‘Was he?’ The information brought a modicum of comfort and she managed a pale smile. ‘We liked each other.’

‘When did you last see him?’

‘It must have been over a week ago.’

‘How did he seem?’

‘John was very happy,’ she said. ‘He was always happy when we were together. But he did warn me that he wouldn’t be able to see me for a while because of Derby Week. Mr Stenton wanted the grooms on duty all the time to guard the horses. John said he’d try to sneak off but he never turned up.’ She burst into tears again. ‘Now I know why.’

Colbeck offered her the brandy once more and she had another sip.

‘Did he tell you anything about his work?’ he said.

‘He told me lots, Inspector. Riding was everything to John. He wanted to be a jockey like Ned. He worked somewhere in Ireland but they wouldn’t let him ride. They said he’d never make a jockey and it really hurt John. He came to England to prove himself.’

‘Do you know the name of the stables in Ireland?’

‘Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘I wrote letters to a friend of his there.’

‘Jerry Doyle?’

She blinked in surprise. ‘How do you know that?’

‘I spoke to him while I was in Dublin,’ said Colbeck. ‘He showed me the letters – you have nice handwriting, Miss Rimmer.’

‘Thank you, sir – I was taught to read and write proper.’

‘In one of the letters, John said that he’d met someone very special but he didn’t give your name.’ She blushed visibly. ‘You did him a great favour in writing on his behalf.’

‘John wanted to learn to do it himself. I said I’d teach him.’

‘That was very kind of you.’

‘I’d do anything for John,’ she affirmed.

‘Did he have any enemies at the stables?’

‘No, he got on very well with everyone, Inspector.’

‘That was the impression I got when I spoke to some of the other grooms. John Feeny had fitted in very well. He had prospects.’

‘He did,’ she said, ‘and he was about to come into some money.’

‘Really?’

‘I was the only person he told. He wouldn’t even tell people like his uncle or Ned Kyle about it. But he told me,’ she went on. ‘We had no secrets from each other, you see.’

‘And where was this money to come from?’

‘A man he’d met.’

‘What did John have to do to get it?’

‘He had to give him as much information as he could about Limerick Lad – that’s the Irish horse in the Derby.’

‘Yes, I know.’

‘John was to see this man somewhere and be paid to talk about the stables where he’d worked. He owed no loyalty to Mr Dowd, the trainer,’ she insisted. ‘He only held John back. Besides, John was working for Mr Stenton and wanted Merry Legs to win the Derby.’

‘Did John say when and where he’d meet this man?’

‘No, Inspector.’

‘Did he give you the man’s name?’

‘John didn’t know it.’

‘What did he tell you about him?’ Colbeck pressed.

‘Only that he was a gentleman and offered a lot of money.’

‘Was he English or Irish?’

‘Oh, English,’ she said, ‘and he knew a lot about racing. John told me he was very nice at first but he did threaten him once.’

‘Really?’

‘When he gave John a job, Mr Stenton warned him that he wasn’t to speak to anyone – anyone at all – outside the stables about what went on there. People are always trying to bribe the grooms and jockeys for information. John swore that he’d say nothing,’ she said. ‘When this man first got in touch with him, John thought it might be best if he said nothing at all to him – not even about a rival stables. It was then the man made his threat.’

‘What did he threaten?’

‘He told John he had a choice,’ she recalled. ‘He could either talk about Limerick Lad and earn his reward, or, if he refused, then he’d lose his job because Mr Stenton would be told where John used to work in Ireland. John had to agree, Inspector,’ she said fervently. ‘He was afraid that if he lost his job, he’d lose me as well. Besides, he needed the money. So he agreed to do what the man asked.’

‘Thank you, Miss Rimmer,’ said Colbeck, watching a tear trickle down her cheek. ‘You’ve been very helpful.’

‘Can I ask you a question now, sir?’

‘Of course.’

‘How was John killed?’

Robert Colbeck took a deep breath before speaking.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Madeleine Andrews was busy in the kitchen when she heard a knock on the front door. Since her father sometimes forgot to take his key with him, she assumed that it was he and went to let him in. Before she did so, however, she decided that it might be safer to see who was outside first. Tugging the curtain back an inch, she peered out into the gloom then let out a cry of joy. Silhouetted against a gas lamp was the familiar figure of Robert Colbeck. She opened the door at once and gave him a radiant smile.

‘I was hoping you were still up,’ he said, stepping into the house and embracing her. ‘I was relieved to see the light still on.’

‘I was waiting for Father. I have to cook his supper.’

‘Mr Andrews had better come soon.’

‘Why is that?’

‘It’s just starting to rain. I felt the first few spots as I got out of the cab. We’re in for a downpour.’

‘Father doesn’t mind a drop of rain,’ she said, shutting the front door. ‘He’s used to being out in all weathers. But how are you?’ she went on, standing back to take a good look at him. ‘And how is the investigation going?’

Colbeck whisked off his hat. ‘I’m fine, Madeleine,’ he said. ‘As for the investigation, we continue to gather evidence.’

‘Are you close to arresting someone yet?’

‘No, but we’re eliminating possible suspects one by one.’

‘Father still insists that it’s a crime of passion.’

‘In one sense, he’s right – it was certainly instigated by someone who has a passion for horseracing.’ An amusing thought struck him. ‘Perhaps we should change places.’

‘Who?’

‘Your father and I.’

Madeleine laughed. ‘What a ridiculous idea!’

‘Is it?’ he asked. ‘Mr Andrews clearly has a detective’s instinct and I’ve always wanted to be an engine driver.’

‘I think you’re both far better off doing the jobs you have.’

‘Perhaps you’re right – but what about you, Madeleine? How is your work going?’

‘I’ve all but finished my latest commission.’ She took him across to her easel and indicated the painting. ‘It’s a Crampton locomotive.’

‘I can see that,’ he said, recognising the distinctive features of Thomas Crampton’s design. ‘What puzzles me is why so few of them were made for this country and so many for France. When I crossed the Channel last year, I twice travelled on trains that were pulled by a locomotive just like that.’ He shot her a look of mock suspicion. ‘Don’t tell me you’re going to export this to France as well?’

‘Not unless the French start drinking tea.’

‘Tea?’

‘That’s where this may end up, Robert – on a tea caddy. It’s a design they want to put on hundreds of them. They intend to sell them at railway stations.’

‘I’d certainly buy one.’

She giggled and he leant forward to give her a kiss. When they sat beside each other, he put his top hat on her head in fun and it dropped down to her ears. They laughed as she took it off and set it aside. Not having seen her for a while, Colbeck was so pleased to be close to her again, reminded of all the things that had attracted him to Madeleine Andrews in the first place. Her vitality was a positive tonic to him. But he did not forget the main purpose of his visit.

‘Do you remember what I asked you?’ he said.

She responded eagerly. ‘About helping in the investigation?’

‘Yes, Madeleine – I may need to call on you now.’

‘That’s wonderful!’

‘You haven’t heard what I want you to do yet. I spent a long time at the stables owned by Hamilton Fido today. Then I was driven to an inn called the Shepherd and Shepherdess.’

Colbeck went on to tell her about his meeting with Bonny Rimmer and how devastated she had been by the news about John Feeny. Madeleine was sure that he had been as considerate as always when passing on bad tidings but there was no way that even he could have softened the blow on this occasion.

‘I feel so sorry for the poor girl,’ she said.

‘That’s why I want you to speak to her.’

‘Me?’

‘There’s only so much I can do, Madeleine,’ he explained. ‘As a detective from Scotland Yard, I must be very intimidating to her. I never felt that I reached Bonny Rimmer, and once she knew the hideous truth about how Feeny died she could not even speak. I left her in a complete daze.’

‘What do you think I can do, Robert?’

‘I felt that she knew more than she actually told me – not because she was deliberately holding anything back but because she was overwhelmed by the situation. Bonny is young and vulnerable. She could simply not cope with the information that the lad she loved had been killed.’

‘Very few women could,’ said Madeleine, ‘especially when they discovered that he’d been beheaded. It must have been horrifying for her. I’m surprised she didn’t faint.’

‘She came very close to it.’

‘I can see why you want me to speak to her instead.’

‘You’re a woman – that gives you an immediate advantage over me. You can draw her out more easily. Do nothing for a day or so. Bonny needs time to grieve and to get over the initial shock.’

‘And then?’

‘Go to the Shepherd and Shepherdess and meet her. Talk to the girl about her friendship with John Feeny. How close were they – did they ever think of marriage? Without realising it,’ said Colbeck, ‘Bonny Rimmer knows things that could be useful to me. I’d hoped you’d be talking to the woman who owned that hatbox but she’s yet to be identified. It may be more helpful if you spoke to Bonny.’

‘I’ll try, Robert.’

‘Thank you.’

As he leant across to kiss her again, they heard the scrape of a key in the lock and moved guiltily apart. They got to their feet. The door suddenly opened and Caleb Andrews darted in to escape the rain that was now falling outside. He closed the door behind him.

‘It’s teeming down out there,’ he said.

‘I managed to miss it,’ said Colbeck. ‘I hope it clears up before Derby Week begins.’

‘Why?’ asked Madeleine.

‘I can see you know nothing about horseracing, Maddy,’ said Andrews. ‘Heavy rain can affect the result of a race. Some horses prefer a hard, dry course. Others do best when the going is soft. If it rains on the morning of the Derby, the betting odds will change.’

‘True,’ agreed Colbeck. ‘Odysseus might drop back and Limerick Lad might replace him as favourite. Brian Dowd told me that his colt liked a soft, damp surface. They have a fair bit of rain in Ireland, by all accounts, so Limerick Lad is used to it.’

‘I’m going to bet on an outsider,’ said Andrews. ‘That way, if I do win, I’ll get a decent return on my money.’

‘Which horse have you picked?’ asked Madeleine.

‘Princess of Fire – the name reminded me of you, Maddy. When you’re in a good mood, you’re my very own princess. And when you’re not, it’s like being in the middle of a fiery furnace.’

‘That’s a terrible thing to say,’ she protested over his laughter.

‘Your father is only teasing,’ said Colbeck.

‘I’m the most tolerant daughter in the world.’

‘You are at that,’ said Andrews, giving her a kiss of appeasement and soaking her dress in the process. ‘I’m sorry, Maddy. I’ll get out of these wet things before I have supper.’

‘What are the odds on this Princess of Fire?’

‘20–1.’

‘Good luck!’ said Colbeck ‘Who owns the horse, Mr Andrews?’

‘A man with an eye for fillies – he has two of them in the race.’

‘Hamilton Fido?’

‘Yes, Inspector,’ replied Andrews. ‘My reasoning is this, see. No bookmaker would enter a horse unless it had a fair chance of winning. I reckon that he’s made sure all the attention has gone on Merry Legs when, in fact, the filly he expects to romp home is Princess of Fire.’

It was her second unexpected visitor that day and Kitty Lavender was torn between pleasure and discomfort. While she was glad to see Hamilton Fido again, she was unsettled by the fact that he had caught her unawares. She was grateful that she was wearing a necklace he had given her. Inviting him into her drawing room, she received a kiss.

‘I didn’t think to see you for a couple of days,’ she said.

‘Is that a complaint, Kitty?’

‘No, no, of course not.’

‘Are your feathers still ruffled?’ he said, caressing her shoulders and arms. ‘When you came to my office, you were very upset.’

‘I had good reason to be, Hamilton.’

‘Well, you seem much calmer now, I’m glad to say. And I kept my promise, Kitty. I found out the name of the murder victim even though the police still haven’t released it to the press.’

She braced herself. ‘Whose head was it?’

‘John Feeny’s.’

‘And who is he?’

‘He was a groom at my stables,’ said Fido, ‘though, in my opinion, he should never have been employed there. Feeny used to work for Brian Dowd. I think he was sent to England as a spy.’

‘Who killed him?’

‘That’s what I came to talk to you about. The man in charge of the investigation is Inspector Colbeck.’

‘Yes – I saw his name in the newspapers.’

‘His nickname is the Railway Detective but he knows a lot about the Turf as well,’ conceded the bookmaker. ‘He also knows how to pick up a scent and that’s where you come in, Kitty.’

‘I don’t follow.’

‘Colbeck discovered that we stayed at the Wyvern Hotel.’

Kitty was scandalised. ‘How on earth did he do that?’

‘I wish I knew. The hotel was your recommendation.’

‘I’d heard it was very discreet,’ she said, not wishing to admit that she’d been there before. ‘A woman friend of mine spoke well of it.’

‘You can tell your friend that she was wrong. They let us down badly. Inspector Colbeck came out to the stables this afternoon to question me about our stay there. I must confess that it gave me a bit of a jolt, Kitty. He knew far too much. What he really wanted to find out was your name.’

‘She started. ‘My name?’

‘It was your hatbox.’

‘What difference does that make?’

‘Colbeck thought there might be significance in the fact. The only way he can be certain is to talk to you in person.’

‘Did you give him my name?’ said Kitty anxiously.

‘You know me better than that,’ he soothed, taking her hands and kissing both of them. ‘I refused to tell him, Kitty. The problem is that that could be construed as holding back evidence. If he wants to, Inspector Colbeck could make life very difficult for me at a time when I need to concentrate all my energies on Derby Week.’

‘There’s nothing I can tell him, Hamilton. My hatbox was stolen. That’s the beginning and the end of it.’

‘He won’t be satisfied until he’s heard that from your own lips.’

‘I don’t want to talk to any detective.’

‘It could save me a lot of embarrassment, Kitty. When he saw that I’d never reveal your name, Colbeck suggested a compromise. He said that you could come forward of your own accord and that the meeting with him would be in the strictest privacy.’

‘No,’ she said, turning away. ‘I want no part of this.’

‘Not even to help me?’

‘I don’t wish for any dealings with the police.’

‘To give him his due, Colbeck seems very trustworthy.’

‘I don’t care what he is.’

‘Well, I do,’ he said, crossing to turn her round so that she faced him. ‘Unless you talk to him, he’ll keep hounding me and I simply can’t allow that. You know how busy I’m going to be, Kitty. The last thing I need is to be hauled into Scotland Yard.’

‘I’m sorry, Hamilton – I just can’t do it.’

Their eyes locked and there was a silent battle of wills. They had been together for a relatively short time but it had been long enough for Kitty to glimpse the rewards that might come her way. Fido was rich, amorous and highly indulgent. The few nights they had spent together had been wonderful, marked by pitches of excitement she had never known before. It would be reckless of her to put their friendship at risk. After mulling it over, she gave a noncommittal nod.

‘I’ll think about it.’

‘Thank you,’ he said, giving her a warm hug. ‘Oh, by the way, I saw your brother last night.’

‘Marcus is only my half-brother.’

‘I called in at a club I belong to and there he was – sitting at the card table with some of the most notorious gamblers in the city. From what I could see, Marcus was doing quite well.’

‘He had a lucky streak. He told me about it.’

‘That’s a good omen for Derby Week.’

‘He means to bet heavily.’

‘Then send him to me,’ said Fido. ‘I like a man who knows how to throw his money around. Cautious punters are the bane of my life.’

‘Marcus is never cautious.’ She remembered her discussion with him and saw an opportunity to probe a little on his behalf. ‘And neither are you, Hamilton. Because you’ve taken big chances, you’ve reaped big rewards.’

He grinned at her. ‘You’re one of them, Kitty.’

‘I may place a small bet myself.’

‘Then don’t come to me. Small bets are for small bookmakers.’

‘They all agree that Odysseus is the favourite.’

‘Put your money on him and you’ll lose it.’

‘What would you advise?’ she asked, nestling up to him.

‘Look to the lady,’ he suggested. ‘It’s high time that a filly won the Derby again and that’s exactly what Merry Legs will do. I saw her being put through her paces today and she reminded me of you.’

She spluttered. ‘A horse reminded you of me?’

‘A filly,’ he corrected with a wicked smile. ‘Merry Legs was sleek, beautiful and a class apart from all those around her – just like you.’

Robert Colbeck and Victor Leeming arrived early at Scotland Yard next morning so that they could compare notes about their respective visits the previous day before reporting to the superintendent. Colbeck was interested to hear Leeming’s assessment of Brian Dowd.

‘He’s a hard man,’ said the sergeant. ‘Mr Dowd was pleasant enough to me but I’m not sure I’d like to work for him.’

‘Why not, Victor?’

‘He has a real temper. One of his stable lads felt the full force of it. The last time I heard that kind of language was in a dockyard. He cursed him until the lad was shaking.’

‘Brian Dowd likes to assert his authority. I saw that in Ireland.’

‘There’s no love lost between him and Hamilton Fido.’

‘I know,’ said Colbeck. ‘They loathe each other and neither of them has a good word to say about Lord Hendry. Of the three of them, I think I liked Dowd the best.’

‘He seemed the most straightforward of them to me.’

‘And he obviously inspires loyalty. That’s why Tim Maguire has stayed with him. If I owned a racehorse, Maguire would always be my first choice as a jockey. I’ve seen him ride before.’

‘No wonder Mr Fido tried to bribe him.’

‘We don’t know that he did,’ said Colbeck, glancing at the letter again. ‘That was an assumption that Dowd made when he saw that this. The offer could have come from one of the many owners who’d love to have Maguire in their colours.’

‘It didn’t come from Lord Hendry,’ said Leeming.

‘How do you know?’

‘Because of something Mr Dowd told me. According to him, Lord Hendry is always short of money. He certainly couldn’t afford the five hundred pounds to tempt Maguire.’

‘He could afford to keep a mistress – until she walked out.’

‘How could he manage that?’

‘On credit, probably,’ said Colbeck. ‘People still respect a title. It can buy a lot of financial leeway.’ He handed the anonymous letter to Leeming. ‘Time to face the wrath of Mr Tallis,’ he added, getting up from his chair. ‘He expected arrests long before now.’

When they entered the superintendent’s office, they walked into a fug of cigar smoke. Tallis was behind his desk, glowering at one of the newspapers on the pile in front of him. After puffing on his cigar, he looked up at them with controlled fury.

‘Which one of you idiots did this?’ he demanded, tapping the newspaper. ‘Who released the name of John Feeny to the press?’

‘Not me, sir,’ said Leeming.

‘Nor me,’ said Colbeck.

‘It must have been one of you. Nobody else outside this room knew who the murder victim was and I wanted to keep it that way until I felt it appropriate to identify him publicly. Admit it,’ he went on, rapping his desk. ‘Which one of you let the name slip?’

‘Neither of us, Superintendent,’ said Colbeck, ‘and you’re wrong to think that we are the only three people aware of Feeny’s identity. You’re forgetting his uncle and Brian Dowd. More importantly, you’re forgetting his killer – he was very much aware of who and what the lad was. You can add someone else to that list as well.’

‘And who might that be?’ said Tallis.

‘Hamilton Fido.’

‘The bookmaker?’

‘When we called on him this morning, he already knew that it was John Feeny’s head in that hatbox.’

‘Incredible!’

‘Not if you’ve met Mr Fido,’ said Leeming.

‘He has agents everywhere, sir,’ said Colbeck. ‘One of them, I’m ashamed to tell you, works in this very building.’

Tallis was rocked by the news. ‘Are you certain, Inspector?’

‘Beyond a shadow of a doubt,’ Colbeck assured him. ‘We need to flush him out and I have an idea how it might be done. Before we get diverted by that, however, I think you should hear what Victor and I managed to find out yesterday afternoon.’

‘Yes, yes, please go ahead.’

‘Victor,’ prompted Colbeck.

‘Oh, I see,’ said Leeming uneasily. ‘You want me to go first.’

He launched into a long, rambling account of his visit to Brian Dowd’s stables and he handed Tallis the anonymous letter sent to the jockey. When the report finally came to an end, the superintendent waved the letter in the air.

‘Five hundred pounds for a jockey?’ he bellowed. ‘Is any man worth that amount for simply riding in a horse race?’

‘Tim Maguire is worth every penny,’ said Colbeck. ‘He’s ahead of his rivals in both skill and experience. The Derby is not an ordinary race, sir. Apart from bringing great kudos to the winner, there’s prize money of over six thousand pounds this year.’

‘Six thousand!’

‘That’s in addition to what the owner can make by betting on his horse,’ said Leeming. ‘You can see why they all want the best jockey. Mr Fido has tried to lure him away before.’

‘Is Dowd certain that Hamilton Fido offered this bribe?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Then all we need to do is to get another sample of Mr Fido’s handwriting in order to compare it with this letter.’

‘With respect,’ said Colbeck, ‘that would be utterly pointless. If Hamilton Fido is the man behind the bribe – and there’s no proof of that – he’d never risk penning the letter himself. He’s too guileful.’

‘I agree,’ said Leeming. ‘He’s the sort of man who could walk through snow without leaving a single footprint.’

‘Somebody wrote this letter,’ insisted Tallis.

Colbeck took it from him. ‘It’s an educated hand,’ he noted, ‘and he’s used stationery of good quality. Lord Hendry, perhaps – now there’s a thought! If he had Tim Maguire in the saddle, Odysseus really would be unbeatable.’

‘Tell me about your visit to Mr Fido’s stables.’

‘It was very productive, sir.’

Unlike the sergeant, Colbeck had taken the trouble to prepare his report beforehand so that it was clear and succinct. Though he told the superintendent about his meeting with Bonny Rimmer, he omitted all reference to the fact that he would be using Madeleine Andrews to extract further information from the barmaid. It was another woman who excited Tallis’s curiosity.

‘Mr Fido spent the night in a hotel with this person?’ he asked censoriously. ‘Whatever happened to Christian values?’

‘He is a bachelor,’ said Colbeck.

‘My point exactly.’

‘He refused to give me the young lady’s name.’

‘Then he must be compelled to do so, Inspector.’

‘I think I found a way around that particular problem, sir. Mr Fido will advise her to come forward voluntarily. I’ve every hope that she’ll take his advice.’

‘Gentlemen consorting with unmarried women,’ said Tallis, exhaling a cloud of smoke. ‘Where will it end? First of all we have Lord Hendry sharing a bed with his mistress in Cambridge and now we have Fido indulging in lewd conduct here in London.’

‘It’s an intriguing coincidence, isn’t it?’ said Colbeck.

‘I think it’s abominable!’

‘I don’t hold with it myself,’ said Leeming. ‘Especially in the case of Lord Hendry – he’s married.’

‘There’s something that both of you should know,’ said Colbeck who had been saving the revelation until he could spring it on the two of them at once. ‘The young lady involved with Lord Hendry was, in point of fact, the same one who had her hatbox stolen from the Wyvern Hotel where she had been staying with Hamilton Fido.’

Tallis was flabbergasted. ‘The same one?’

‘That’s indecent!’ gasped Leeming. ‘She must be a prostitute.’

‘I fancy she’d prefer to be called a courtesan,’ said Colbeck, ‘and considers herself to be continuing a long and honourable tradition.’

‘Honourable!’ The superintendent almost exploded.

‘In her eyes, sir.’

‘Sheer depravity!’

‘You can see why I’m so keen to meet her.’

‘I’ll leave that disagreeable task to you, Inspector,’ said Tallis with disdain. ‘I don’t want the creature near me.’

‘As you wish, sir.’

‘Wait a moment,’ said Leeming, weighing up the possibilities in the situation. ‘Did both gentleman realise what was going on?’

‘I doubt it very much, Victor.’

‘What if she was being used as a spy?’

‘At whose behest?’

‘Mr Fido’s,’ said Leeming. ‘What better way to learn how Odysseus is faring than by getting someone to win Lord Hendry’s confidence?’

‘No,’ decided Colbeck. ‘Hamilton Fido may be manipulative but I don’t believe that even he would loan a young lady for whom he really cares to another man. I learnt today that he has a romantic streak.’

‘Romantic!’ echoed Tallis incredulously. ‘What’s romantic about fornicating with a fallen woman? I saw too much of that in the army. I lost count of the number of drunken fools in the lower ranks who persuaded themselves they were in love with some damned whore because she offered them forbidden pleasures.’

‘I think you’re being unkind to Mr Fido, sir,’ warned Colbeck.

‘If the caps fits, Inspector, the man must wear it.’

‘I’ve just had another thought,’ said Leeming. ‘Suppose that a third person is involved here.’

Tallis rounded on him. ‘Third, fourth, fifth and all the rest of them, sergeant,’ he said harshly. ‘This woman is no vestal virgin.’

‘Hear me out, please, sir. My feeling is this, you see,’ continued Leeming. ‘A third person could be using this young lady to get information about the Derby from the two people who are his closest rivals. In other words, the man we should look at is Brian Dowd.’

‘I’ve already done that,’ said Colbeck, ‘and dismissed the notion at once. He has all the information he needs about the other horses and he would never resort to the tactics you suggest, Victor. Well, you’ve met the man. What was your overriding impression?’

‘He was blunt and direct.’

‘What about Hamilton Fido?’

‘I’ve never met anyone so sure of himself.’

‘Exactly,’ said Colbeck. ‘He’s supremely confident, clever and well acquainted with the ways of the world. A man as urbane as Fido would never let a woman be planted on him by a rival, however skilful she might be in the arts of deceit. He’s a handsome man who could have his pick of the most attractive young ladies in London. Since he chose this particular one, she must have outstanding appeal.’

‘Yes,’ added Tallis, putting his cigar down. ‘And we can all guess the nature of that appeal. Find this person, Inspector,’ he ordered. ‘We must know where she fits into the picture.’

‘Before I do that, sir,’ said Colbeck, taking a slip of paper from his pocket, ‘I wonder if I might remind you of the amount you owe me for my travel expenses to Ireland. As you will recall, I met them out of my own pocket.’

‘I’m still not convinced your journey was entirely necessary.’

‘I brought back the name of the murder victim.’

‘What I’m after is the name of the killer,’ said Tallis.

‘That will come in time, sir.’

‘Then we’ll defer any reimbursement until then, Inspector. If and when we do finally put someone behind bars, I’ll accept that your jaunt to Ireland should be paid out of our budget.’

‘Thank you,’ said Colbeck, putting the piece of paper on the desk. ‘This is a record of my expenses. I think you’ll agree that a small investment of time and money yielded a large reward.’

‘Make an arrest and secure a conviction.’

‘We’re bending all our energies to that end, sir. However,’ Colbeck went on, ‘it might be sensible to take time off to confront the problem we have here at Scotland Yard – namely, a spy.’

‘A traitor in our ranks?’ said Tallis. ‘He must be rooted out.’

‘That’s easier said than done,’ Leeming commented.

‘I don’t think so, Victor,’ said Colbeck. ‘We can catch him very quickly and you are the person to help us do that.’

‘Am I, sir – how?’

‘There are four people here who are above suspicion – we three and the commissioner. Somewhere among the rest of our colleagues is Hamilton Fido’s source. The bookmaker operates on the principle of scientia est potentia.’

‘What’s that?’ rasped Tallis.

‘Knowledge is power. Fido collects intelligence all the time from his network of spies. That’s why he’s so well informed. I suggest that you gather the detectives together, sir,’ said Colbeck, ‘and give them a piece of information that would be very valuable to Fido. His informer will want to communicate it as soon as possible to him. Victor will be watching from an upstairs room in the Lamb and Flag. When someone leaves surreptitiously, we’ll know who our man is.’

Leeming liked the idea. ‘Do I arrest him, Inspector?’

‘You follow him until he meets up with Fido.’

‘Right.’

‘And when the rogue is apprehended,’ said Tallis mercilessly, ‘hand him over to me. I’ll make him wish he was never born.’

‘You approve then, sir?’ asked Colbeck.

‘I do, Inspector. We’ll put the plan into operation at once.’

‘Give Victor time to get across to the Lamb and Flag first.’

‘Off you go, Leeming,’ instructed Tallis.

The sergeant went to the door. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘And remember that you’re in that tavern to watch out for the criminal in our midst – not to sample the beer.’ Leeming nodded and left the room. ‘What is it that I’m supposed to tell my men, Inspector?’ continued Tallis. ‘You called it a valuable piece of information.’

‘Were it true,’ said Colbeck, ‘it would certainly be valuable to Hamilton Fido. When you tell the others about the progress we’ve made in the investigation, go on to say that I intend to arrest Mr Fido this very afternoon.’ He smiled conspiratorially. ‘That should inject a note of urgency.’

Victor Leeming was delighted with his assignment. He would be helping to unmask an informer, he would be doing so from the vantage point of his favourite establishment and no train journey was required of him. As he took up his position at the window in an upstairs room of the Lamb and Flag, the landlord came in with a tankard of beer for him.

‘I’m not allowed to drink on duty,’ said Leeming.

‘This is on the house, Sergeant.’

‘Then it would be rude to refuse.’

The landlord handed him the tankard. ‘You’ve been such a good customer for us over the years – so have your colleagues. We always like to keep on the right side of the law.’

‘I wish everyone had that attitude.’ Leeming took a long sip of his beer then licked his lips appreciatively. ‘This is good.’

‘We aim to please.’

‘Well, you’ve certainly pleased me.’

‘Recommend my beer, that’s all I ask.’

‘Oh, I always do,’ said Leeming, gazing through the window. ‘I sing your praises to everyone. Though I have some bad news, I fear.’

‘Oh dear – what’s that?’

‘I may have to deprive you of one of your regular customers.’

Quaffing some more beer, he remained vigilant.

White’s was the oldest and most celebrated gentlemen’s club in St.James’s Street. It was renowned for its illustrious history, its elite membership and its penchant for gambling. Prime Ministers, generals, admirals, poets, diarists, Regency bucks and other luminaries had belonged to it in their time and left the place charged with their memory. Some had joined in search of civilised conversation while others had wanted a desirable refuge from their wives and children. Once a member of White’s, they entered a magic circle.

Lord Hendry had belonged to the club for many years and was a familiar sight at the card tables. That morning, he was enjoying a drink with friends and fending off their enquiries about the Derby. A uniformed steward soon entered with a business card on his silver tray. He offered the card to Lord Hendry.

‘The gentleman wishes to speak to you now, sir,’ said the man.

Lord Hendry read the name on the card. ‘Very well,’ he agreed.

Excusing himself from his friends, he followed the steward to an anteroom near the vestibule. When he went in, Lord Hendry found Robert Colbeck waiting for him. After an exchange of greetings, they sat down opposite each other. Lord Hendry adopted a patrician tone with his visitor.

‘At least you didn’t bother me at home this time,’ he said loftily.

‘I recalled your saying how often you came to your club, my lord,’ said Colbeck, ‘and you indicated to Superintendent Tallis that you’d rather be contacted here.’

‘How did you know I was a member of White’s?’

‘It seemed the most likely place for someone of your eminence.’

‘I divide most of my time between here and my stables.’

‘I trust that Odysseus is still in fine fettle.’

‘He’s fully justified his position as Derby favourite,’ said Lord Hendry, ‘and that’s why our rivals are so worried. I hope you’ve come to tell me that you’ve arrested the man who tried to put my horse out of the race altogether.’

‘I wish that I had, Lord Hendry, but it’s not the case.’

‘Fido and Dowd are the chief suspects.’

‘Both of them have been interviewed at length,’ said Colbeck. ‘I spent yesterday afternoon at Mr Hamilton’s stables and he denied all knowledge of the attack on Odysseus.’

‘He would,’ snarled the other.

‘As it happens, I’ve come here on another errand.’

‘And what, pray, is that?’

‘To discuss your visit to the Wyvern Hotel,’ said Colbeck.

‘I’ve never been anywhere near such a place.’

‘Then let’s start with the Angel Hotel in Cambridge, shall we? Or perhaps you’ve never heard of that either.’

‘You’re being impertinent, Inspector Colbeck.’

‘I am merely trying to save time.’

‘By resorting to insolence?’

‘No,’ said Colbeck, ‘by reminding you how thorough we are. I sent my sergeant to the Angel Hotel to confirm that you stayed there. And I’m equally satisfied that you stayed at the Wyvern Hotel. I can tell you the precise date, if you wish.’

‘I warned your superintendent about this,’ railed Lord Hendry, cheeks reddening by the second. ‘It’s intolerable! I demand the right to privacy. I’ll not have the police intruding into my life like vultures pecking at a carcass. Damn it all, Inspector! You’re supposed to be tracking a vicious killer, not checking up on where I choose to stay.’

‘The murder and the Wyvern Hotel are inextricably linked.’

‘I fail to see how.’

‘It was from the hotel that the hatbox was stolen.’ He saw the way that Lord Hendry winced. ‘But you already knew that, didn’t you? In the interests of solving this crime, you should have come forward with that information instead of letting us find out for ourselves.’ Colbeck waited for a response that never came. ‘I know this must be embarrassing for you,’ he said at length, ‘but there’s a question you refused to answer when Superintendent Tallis put it to you.’

‘And I still refuse,’ asserted Lord Hendry.

‘The name of that young lady is of great interest to us.’

‘And none whatsoever to me.’

‘We’ll find her one way or another,’ said Colbeck. ‘If she proves instrumental in helping us to solve this murder, then your refusal to name her will be taken as an act of wilful obstruction. There could be consequences.’

‘I don’t give a fig for your consequences!’ yelled Lord Hendry, snapping his fingers. ‘And I don’t accept that this person can be of any value to you. She neither beheaded the murder victim nor planned the attack on Odysseus. Look elsewhere, Inspector. I’ve told you who the likely villains are.’

‘They appear to be injured parties, my lord.’

‘Dowd and Fido are the two biggest rogues in horseracing.’

‘That doesn’t stop them from being a target for their rivals,’ said Colbeck. ‘Did you know that someone has been trying to entice Tim Maguire away from Mr Dowd with an offer of five hundred pounds?’

‘No,’ admitted Lord Hendry. ‘I didn’t.’

‘And did it never occur to you that the reason John Feeny was killed was to throw suspicion onto Hamilton Fido? He resents that.’

‘Don’t believe his protestations of innocence. Fido is a two-faced villain of the first water. It wouldn’t surprise me if he’s behind the murder and the assault on Odysseus. He’s an appalling fellow. How anyone can have any dealings with him is beyond me.’

Colbeck was about to tell him that his former mistress did not share his low opinion of Fido but he changed his mind. He felt that it would be too cruel and that the information should not come from him. It would certainly not encourage Lord Hendry to divulge the name that he was after. His only hope was that the young lady would come forward at the prompting of Hamilton Fido. He shifted his interest to another racehorse owner.

‘Why do you dislike Brian Dowd so much, Lord Hendry?’

‘I don’t dislike him – I hate, detest and revile the man!’

‘On what grounds?’ asked Colbeck.

‘He’s beneath contempt.’

‘Yet every racing correspondent describes him as a brilliant trainer. How did he achieve that reputation?’

‘By dint of cheating and connivance,’ said Lord Hendry. ‘Dowd can pick out a good horse, I’ll grant him that. But he can also make sure that lesser horses somehow contrive to win races. Exactly how he does it is a mystery to me – but it’s criminal.’

‘Has he ever been charged with any offence?’

‘I’ve made frequent allegations against him, Inspector, but I’ve been unable to back them up with firm evidence.’

‘Evidence should come before any allegation, Lord Hendry.’

‘He must be cheating – his horses win too many races.’

‘What about the Derby?’

Lord Hendry was unequivocal. ‘That’s one race he won’t win.’

‘Limerick Lad is a fine colt – my sergeant has seen him.’

‘But did he time him over the Derby distance, Inspector? I think not. I know exactly how fast the Irish horse can run on that course and it puts him seconds behind Odysseus.’

‘I can’t believe that Mr Dowd was kind enough to tell you about Limerick Lad,’ said Colbeck. ‘You must have obtained details about the horse’s speed by underhand means.’

‘My trainer likes to weigh up the competition.’

‘I’d be interested to hear how he goes about it, Lord Hendry. But I’ve detained you far too long,’ he continued, getting up and reaching for his top hat. ‘I’m sorry that you feel unable to assist us in our enquiries.’

‘I have assisted you, Inspector,’ said the older man. ‘I pointed out the two obvious culprits – Brian Dowd and Hamilton Fido.’

‘Having met Mr Dowd, I’m inclined to absolve him of the charges you make against him. Mr Fido, however is a different matter. He sails very close to the wind. In fact,’ said Colbeck, ‘I expect to be speaking to him on that very subject in the near future.’

Sergeant Leeming’s vigil did not last long. Twenty minutes after he had taken up his post in the Lamb and Flag, he saw someone coming out of Scotland Yard and glancing around furtively. When he recognised the man, the shock momentarily took his breath away. It was Detective Constable Peter Cheggin, a friend of the sergeant’s. They had served in uniform together and, since their move to the Detective Department, they had often chatted over a drink in the very public house where Leeming was concealed. As a policeman, Cheggin had always been fearless and reliable. Leeming was distressed to learn that his friend had been corrupted.

He left the room at speed and raced down the stairs. Opening the front door, he slipped through it and hid in the porch of the neighbouring building. There was no danger of his being seen. Peter Cheggin was too preoccupied with trying to find a cab. When one finally came along Whitehall, he stepped out to flag it down. Leeming was afraid that a second cab would not come in time for him to follow the first but his fears were groundless.

Cheggin did not climb into the cab. He merely gave something to the driver and issued some instructions. When the driver was paid, he nodded his thanks. Cheggin hastened back to his office. A message was being sent. Leeming knew that he had to intercept it. As the cab set off, therefore, he dashed out into the middle of the road and held up both arms. The driver pulled the horse to a halt and rid himself of a torrent of expletives. His rage turned to meek apology when Leeming identified himself as a detective.

‘I want that letter you were just given,’ said Leeming.

‘But the gentleman paid me, sir,’ wailed the driver.

‘That was Constable Cheggin and he was breaking the law in sending that message. If you deliver it, you’ll be arrested and charged as an accomplice.’

‘I did nothing wrong, sir!’

‘Then give me the letter and be on your own way.’

‘The driver was downcast. ‘Do I have to give the money back as well?’ he asked morosely.

‘What money?’ said Leeming, feeling that the driver deserved to keep it. ‘I didn’t see any money being exchanged between you. All I need is that letter.’

‘Then it’s yours.’

The driver handed over the missive and flicked the reins to set the horse off again. Leeming, meanwhile, glanced at the name and address on the letter. It was being dispatched to Hamilton Fido. The ruse had worked. Anger bubbled inside Leeming. He knew that he should report what he had seen to the superintendent but this was no time to follow instructions. Putting the letter in his pocket, he went after the man who had written it.

Peter Cheggin was a tall stringy man in his thirties. He was in the office belonging to Robert Colbeck, leafing through the case file that related to the murder investigation. When Leeming walked in, the other man immediately put the file back on the desk and pretended to move a few other items around.

‘Hello, Victor,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I was told to tidy up in here.’

‘Not by Inspector Colbeck – he keeps the place spotless.’

‘That’s why there was so little to do.’

‘I’m glad I bumped into you, Peter,’ said Leeming. ‘Some mail arrived for you.’ He took out the letter and held it out. ‘A cabman delivered it just this minute.’

Cheggin turned white. Seeing the letter, he knew at once that he had been caught. He shrugged, gave a strained smile then, without warning, hurled himself at Leeming, intending to push him aside so that he could make his escape. The sergeant was ready for him. Moving swiftly to one side, he grabbed Cheggin by both arms and swung him hard against the wall before using both fists to pummel him. Cheggin fought back and they grappled wildly in the middle of the room. A chair was knocked over, a potted plant was toppled from its perch and all the papers on Colbeck’s desk went flying as the two men flailed about.

Cheggin had the strength of desperation but Victor Leeming slowly got the upper hand. Subduing an offender was the part of police work that he liked best. Fuelled by resentment and by a sense of betrayal, he shoved, shook, punched, pulled and squeezed hard before using his knee to explore Cheggin’s groin. When the constable doubled up in agony, Leeming took his opportunity to fell him with a swift uppercut. Cheggin collapsed in a heap on the floor and groaned. Breathing hard, Leeming stood over him.

‘You were one of us, Peter,’ he said, ‘and you let us down.’

‘I needed the money,’ croaked the other.

‘You won’t need money in prison and that’s where you’re going for this.’ Leeming glanced at the debris they had caused. ‘Look at the mess you made. Inspector Colbeck won’t like that at all.’

The noise of the fight had brought a knot of onlookers and they stood at the open door. Superintendent Tallis pushed through them and came into the office. He looked with dismay at the dishevelled state of the two men.

‘What, in heaven’s name, is going on here?’ he shouted.

‘I made an arrest, sir,’ explained the sergeant, taking Cheggin by the scruff of the neck to hoist him to his feet. ‘This is the man who’s been spying on us, Superintendent – he’s all yours.’

CHAPTER NINE

Kitty Lavender spent most of the morning on a shopping spree, buying what she considered to be the last few vital accessories for her visit to Epsom Downs during Derby Week. She wanted to look at her best for the occasion. A hansom cab returned her to her lodgings and, when she alighted from it, she was laden with boxes and packages. Her landlady was at the window as she arrived and, seeing what Kitty was carrying, she came to open the front door for her.

‘Thank you, Mrs Collier,’ said Kitty, stepping into the house. ‘I didn’t have a spare hand to ring the doorbell.’

‘You have a visitor, Miss Lavender,’ said the landlady, a small, rotund, motherly woman. ‘I showed him up to your room.’

Kitty was wary. ‘It’s not Mr Johnson again, is it?’

‘No, Miss Lavender.’

‘Then it must be Mr Fido.’

‘It’s not him either.’

‘Oh – then who is it?’

‘Your father.’

Kitty was nonplussed. Since her father had died years before, she knew that it could not possibly be him. Somebody had entered her lodgings under false pretences and that disturbed her. Hiding her alarm from the landlady, she struggled upstairs with her shopping then put down one of the boxes so that she could open the door of her drawing room. Lord Hendry was sitting in a chair. When he saw how burdened she was, he got up and walked over to her.

‘Let me help you, Kitty,’ he volunteered.

She was shocked. ‘What are you doing here, George?’

‘Let’s get everything inside first, shall we?’ he said, picking up the box from the floor and ushering her into the room. He closed the door behind him. ‘We don’t want your landlady to overhear us. She believes that I’m your father. We can’t have her thinking that we committed incest.’

Kitty put her shopping down. ‘You’ve no right to be here,’ she said belligerently. ‘Even when we were friends, I kept you away from my lodgings. I like to preserve some privacy.’

‘I needed to speak to you, Kitty.’

‘Then you should have asked me to meet you somewhere.’

‘After what happened last time,’ he said reasonably, ‘I had no guarantee that you’d agree to see me again.’

‘So you tricked your way past my landlady with an arrant lie.’ She became suspicious. ‘How long have you been here?’

‘Long enough to have a good look around.’

‘I hope you didn’t dare go into my bedroom.’

‘Why – what secrets have you got hidden in there?’

‘Is that why you came?’ she demanded. ‘To snoop on me?’

‘Calm down, Kitty,’ said Lord Hendry, putting a hand on her shoulder. ‘I’ve only been here five minutes or so.’

Reacting to his touch, she pulled away smartly and went to open the door of her bedroom. She glanced inside to make sure that nothing had been moved or taken. Satisfied that all was well, she turned back to face him again.

‘I was interested to see where you lived,’ he said. ‘It’s exactly the kind of place I imagined – comfortable, tasteful and essentially feminine.’ He became serious. ‘I had a visit from Inspector Colbeck this morning. Does that name mean anything to you?’

‘Yes – he’s leading the murder investigation.’

‘God knows how but he somehow discovered that you and I spent that night at the Wyvern Hotel. He asked me to divulge your name. I refused to give it, of course, but he’s the kind of man who won’t let the matter rest there.’

‘He has no need to speak to me,’ she said irritably.

‘Colbeck believes that he does.’

‘I have nothing whatsoever to do with the crime.’

‘Unfortunately, you do,’ he told her. ‘It was your hatbox that contained the severed head. The Inspector feels that it was no random choice. Your property was stolen for a specific purpose.’

‘How could it have been? Nobody knew I was at that hotel.’

‘Someone must have done.’

‘No,’ she stressed, walking across to him. ‘For obvious reasons, I didn’t tell a soul that I was going there.’

‘What about the person who accompanied you?’

‘He was equally circumspect.’

‘That’s what he claimed, I daresay, but men are men, Kitty. Some of them simply can’t resist boasting about their conquests. It may well be that this fellow unwittingly let the cat out of the bag.’

‘He’d never do that, George.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because he’s very discreet.’

‘By instinct or necessity?’ he asked, eyelids narrowing. ‘Is he married? Having a wife forces a man to be extremely discreet.’

‘You’d know more about that than I do, George.’

‘So who is your mysterious lover?’

‘Mind your own business.’

‘You won’t be able to say that to Inspector Colbeck,’ he warned. ‘He’ll find out who the man is and follow the trail to you. One thing is certain. Your new admirer is patently not accustomed to clandestine encounters in hotels or he’d have known exactly where to take you. Instead of that, he let you recommend the Wyvern.’

Kitty flared up. ‘I did that for with good reason, George.’

‘Did you?’

‘I wanted to purge the memory of spending time there with you. In fact, I’d like to forget every single thing that ever happened between us. It was all a regrettable mistake.’

‘You didn’t think so at the time.’

‘I didn’t know the sort of person you really were then.’

‘I cared for you, Kitty. I indulged your every whim.’

‘But you didn’t,’ she countered. ‘You denied me the thing that I coveted most and that was a public acknowledgement of my status. You kept me out of sight because you were ashamed of me.’

‘Ashamed of myself, more likely,’ he said under his breath. ‘How could I be seen with you in public? I have a wife. That fact inevitably imposed restrictions on our friendship. I told you from the start that Caroline’s feelings had to be considered.’

‘What about my feelings?’

‘You seemed happy enough to me.’

‘Did you ever ask how I felt? Did you ever show any real interest in what I actually wanted? No, George – you simply wished to have me at your beck and call.’ She struck a dignified pose. ‘I’m worth more than that.’

‘I took you for what you were, Kitty – a scheming adventuress.’

She pointed to the door. ‘I think you should leave.’

‘I’ll not depart until I find out who he is,’ he resolved. ‘I don’t believe that you deserted me because I didn’t take you with me to the races. There was someone else, wasn’t there? All the time we were friends, you were intriguing behind my back with another man.’

‘I’m not that unprincipled, George.’

‘Who is the fellow?’

‘We only met after I’d parted company with you.’

‘I want to know his name!’ he howled, stamping a foot.

Kitty was shaken by the intensity of his anger and she took a precautionary step backwards. There was no way that she could conceal her relationship with Hamilton Fido indefinitely and she had no wish to do so. It had been her intention to flaunt it at the Derby when everyone would see her and where it could be used as a potent weapon against Lord Hendry. Nothing would hurt him more than the realisation that the woman he had lost was now on intimate terms with a despised rival. The revelation could not be postponed until then. Cornered in her own lodgings, she responded with spirit.

‘I’ll tell you his name,’ she said, raising herself up to her full height, ‘but I’ll only do so on one condition.’

‘What’s that?’

‘That you leave this house immediately.’

‘With pleasure,’ he said, picking up his top hat and cane. ‘Now, then, what benighted fool have you enticed into your bed this time?’

‘Hamilton Fido.’

He was stunned. ‘You’d never do that to me, Kitty.’

‘Hamilton Fido,’ she repeated with a smirk of delight. ‘You’ll see us both at the Derby next week. What do you think of that, George?’

Unable to find words to express his fury, Lord Hendry resorted to actions. Drawing back his cane, he used it to hit her across the side of the head and knock her down. Then he stormed out of the room and slammed the door after him.

Derby Week did not begin until the following Monday but preparations were already well under way. When he took the train to Epsom that Saturday, Robert Colbeck found that it was already covered with tents, marquees, stalls, sideshows and gypsy caravans. It was a sunny afternoon in late May and more people were arriving in carts, wagons, drays, cabs and coaches or on horseback and foot. Even at that early stage, a carnival atmosphere prevailed. By the time the Derby was run on Wednesday of the next week, the whole place would be transformed into a giant fairground.

Like Victor Leeming, Colbeck had been saddened to learn that the informer inside Scotland Yard was Constable Peter Cheggin, a competent and hard-working detective, but he was relieved that the man had been caught. The letter that Cheggin had tried to send to his paymaster was addressed to the office in Bethnal Green and Colbeck had dispatched his sergeant there, choosing himself to seek Hamilton Fido at the venue where the bookmaker would be working during the races. He was in luck. Fido was there. After making enquiries, he was directed towards the betting office.

Hamilton Fido was outside the grandstand, talking to Marcus Johnson with an affability that suggested a measure of friendship. The bookmaker was displeased to see Colbeck again but he performed the introductions with suave politeness.

‘I’ve read about you, Inspector,’ said Johnson, pumping his hand. ‘You are the celebrated Railway Detective.’

Colbeck was modest. ‘That’s not a title I ever use, sir.’

‘Have you come to place a bet on the Derby?’

‘Not yet, Mr Johnson.’

‘I’ve been trying to get some guidance from Hamilton but he’s too canny to give it. His only advice is to bet on the horse I fancy.’

‘Look at the odds I’ve set,’ said Fido. ‘They tell you everything.’

‘But they don’t,’ said Johnson, displaying his teeth. ‘They tell us enough to mislead us. Do you know what I think, Inspector?’

‘What, sir?’ said Colbeck.

‘I believe that Hamilton is playing a deep game. Merry Legs is only 8–1 but her chances are much better than that. Did you know that he has a second horse in the race?’

‘Yes, sir – Princess of Fire.’

‘One filly might not win against all those colts but two might. That’s his plan, I suspect,’ argued Johnson. ‘He’ll use Princess of Fire to set the pace so that Merry Legs can sit in behind her until the final couple of furlongs. Am I right, Hamilton?’

Fido’s smile was enigmatic. ‘Put your money where your mouth is, Marcus,’ he counselled. ‘Rely on your instinct.’

‘I did that two years ago,’ boasted Johnson, ‘when the favourite was Little Harry. My instinct told me that Daniel O’Rourke was a tempting bet at 25–1 and I walked off with a full wallet when he won by half a length. Little Harry, by the way, was unplaced.’

‘I remember it only too well,’ said Colbeck. ‘I had money on Little Harry that day. If my memory serves, there were over thirty runners in that race. Merry Legs will have fewer to contend with this year.’

‘Twenty other runners in all.’

‘Nineteen,’ corrected Fido.

‘Since when?’

‘Since this morning, Marcus.’

‘Oh?’

‘My spies tell me that Tambourine has sprained a tendon and been withdrawn. His owner, Sir Richard Duggleby, will be livid – he had high hopes of Tambourine.’

‘That means we only have twenty runners.’

‘A much smaller field than usual,’ observed Colbeck, ‘but it’s still infernally difficult to pick the winner.’

‘Not unless you’re a bookmaker,’ said Johnson, clapping Fido on the back. ‘However, I can see that the inspector wants a private word with you, Hamilton, so I’ll make myself scarce.’

There was a flurry of farewells then Johnson withdrew. Colbeck watched him bounding off with a spring in his step then raising his hat to two ladies who walked past.

‘A born gambler, by the sound of it,’ he said.

‘Marcus Johnson lives off his wits,’ observed Fido. ‘If he’s not at the races, he’ll be at the card table. If not there, he’ll be betting on something else.’

‘Illegal blood sports, for instance?’

Fido laughed. ‘You’ll have to ask him yourself, Inspector.’

‘You’re the only person who interests me at the moment, sir. It’s odd that you mentioned spies a moment ago because that’s exactly what I came to talk to you about. First,’ he went on, taking a letter from his pocket, ‘I’m delivering this on behalf of Detective Constable Peter Cheggin. He was unable to come here as he’s now in custody.’

‘I see,’ said Fido calmly, taking the envelope and opening it to read the letter. He grinned. ‘Is this some kind of joke, Inspector?’

‘I’m here to do exactly what he says – to arrest you.’

‘On what charge?’

‘Corrupting one of our detectives so that he passed on privileged information from Scotland Yard.’

‘Is that what I did?’

‘The letter is proof of that.’

‘I don’t think so, Inspector. Have you talked to Peter Cheggin?’

‘Of course.’

‘Did he say that I asked him to act as an informer?’

‘He didn’t need to do that.’

‘Did he claim that I paid him for information?’

‘Cheggin is being rather bloody-minded at the moment,’ said Colbeck. ‘He’ll admit nothing beyond the fact that he wrote that letter.’

‘I wish that it had arrived before you did, Inspector.’

‘So that you could take to your heels?’

‘On the contrary,’ said Fido. ‘I’d have saved you the trouble of coming here by giving myself up. Then I could have told you the story that lies behind this letter.’

‘That’s only too apparent, Mr Fido.’

‘Is it? How well do you know Peter Cheggin?’

‘Reasonably well. I judged him to be a good officer.’

‘I’ve no doubt that he is but Peter has two glaring problems. The first is that he loves to gamble and the second is that he doesn’t earn enough to cover his losses. Peter Cheggin owes me money,’ said Fido quietly. ‘A fair amount of money, as it happens. Most bookmakers are not as patient as I am, Inspector. If someone can’t settle his debts, he gets a visit from two strong men with the gift of persuasion. I prefer to do business on a more civilised basis.’

‘Very noble of you, sir,’ said Colbeck with light sarcasm.

‘Peter is obviously so grateful that he sends me the occasional nugget of information as a sign of goodwill. I don’t ask for it and I most certainly don’t pay for it. Did I corrupt one of your men?’ he asked rhetorically. ‘No, Inspector – he was already corrupted by the desire to gamble and that’s what landed him in debt.’

‘I only have your word for that, Mr Fido, and – if you’ll forgive my saying so – I don’t accept that at face value.’

‘In that case,’ said Fido, enjoying the situation, ‘you must do your duty and arrest me so that you can question me at Scotland Yard. But bear this is mind – the burden of proof lies with you. And there is no court in Creation that can prove I paid Peter Cheggin to act as a spy. He did it entirely of his own accord.’

His readiness to be arrested rang a warning bell for Colbeck. Before he had joined the Metropolitan Police Force, the inspector had been a successful barrister, spending every day in court and testing the limits of the English legal system with regularity. He knew how difficult it sometimes was to persuade juries of a malefactor’s guilt even when the evidence against him was fairly strong. In view of what Fido had just told him, the evidence against the bookmaker could look decidedly flimsy in court. Though he had certainly encouraged a detective to act as an informer, proving it would be difficult. Hamilton Fido was a wealthy man who would retain the ablest defence counsel he could find. The case against him would be ripped to shreds and Colbeck did not want that to happen.

‘How many of them are there, Mr Fido?’ he asked.

‘How many what?’

‘People like Peter Cheggin – decent men who get led astray by you and who end up taking the punishment that should really be yours alone.’

‘I told you once before, Inspector,’ said Fido gleefully. ‘I have a gift for survival. When others fall by the wayside, I carry on unscathed.’ He thrust out both wrists. ‘Well – come on,’ he goaded. ‘Aren’t you going to put handcuffs on me?’

Late that afternoon, Brian Dowd had ridden over to Epsom to inspect the course and get a feel of the place where he expected Limerick Lad to achieve a resounding success. He talked to some of the officials who were there and also chatted to a couple of the men whose job it was to cut the grass and ensure that the course was in good condition. Dowd was standing reflectively near the winning post when a carriage pulled up beside him. Sitting in the back of it was Lord Hendry, still smarting from his earlier encounter with Kitty Lavender. The sight of his rival enraged him.

‘That’s the closest you’ll get to the winning post, Dowd,’ he said with condescension. ‘Odysseus will flash past it first.’

‘Really?’ said Dowd, looking up at him. ‘How do you know that, my lord? You’ve never trained a racehorse. I’ve trained dozens and I can tell you now that Limerick Lad is the finest three-year-old I’ve ever had in my stables. I’ve brought him to his peak for the Derby so I know what he’ll do. You, on the other hand, rely solely on the word of your trainer.’

‘He happens to be a master at his trade.’

‘Then why have none of your horses won a major race?’

‘They’ve been unlucky,’ said Lord Hendry, stung by the remark.

‘I don’t believe in luck.’

‘No, you believe in gaining the advantage by unfair means. What tricks have you got up your sleeve this time, Dowd? I haven’t forgotten that race at Doncaster in which one of your jockeys – acting on your instructions, no doubt – forced my horse against the rails.’

‘Your horse tried to come through a gap that did not exist.’

‘That’s not how I saw it.’

‘You’re a poor loser, my lord,’ said the Irishman with a grin. ‘That surprises me, considering how much practice you’ve had at it.’

‘Sneer, if you must,’ said Lord Hendry. ‘You’ll change your tune on Wednesday when Odysseus leaves your horse standing.’

‘I admire your confidence.’

‘It’s shared by every bookmaker of note.’

‘Never trust bookmakers,’ said Dowd. ‘They work on incomplete information. Look how many favourites are beaten out of sight. You’ll see another come to grief in the Derby.’

Lord Hendry flicked a hand. ‘I’m not here to bandy words with the likes of you,’ he said scornfully.

‘I assumed you’d come to see Odysseus. Has the horse been moved to Epsom already?’

‘He arrived this morning under police guard.’

‘Yes, I heard that you’d a spot of trouble.’

‘Is that because you incited it?’ challenged Lord Hendry.

Dowd’s face was impassive ‘Now why should I do that?’

‘For the reason you always resort to criminality – to gain an unfair advantage.’

‘But I already have an advantage, Lord Hendry. I own better horses than anyone else. I’m far too busy protecting them to worry about anybody else’s stables. Before you portray yourself as a victim,’ said Dowd forcefully, ‘look at my problems. Someone tried to send me the severed head of a groom I used to employ. How would you like to open a lady’s hatbox and find that inside?’

Lord Hendry flinched at the mention of the hatbox. It brought back painful memories of Kitty Lavender’s betrayal of him. It also made him wonder who had committed the murder and why he had sent such a chilling memento of it to Ireland.

‘Then we come to Tim Maguire,’ continued Dowd. ‘Even you must admit that he’s the best jockey alive.’

‘One of them, I grant you.’

‘Someone offered him five hundred pounds if he refused to ride for me. When that bribe failed,’ said Dowd with rising anger, ‘they set a couple of ruffians onto him last night. They were supposed to make sure that he was unfit to ride in the Derby. But I keep my jockeys well guarded so the attackers were frightened off with a shot or two.’ He stepped closer to the carriage and fixed Lord Hendry with an accusatory stare. ‘The location of those stables was supposed to be a secret,’ he added. ‘How did anyone know where Tim Maguire was?’

‘Don’t look at me like that,’ said Lord Hendry. ‘I’d never hire ruffians to assault a jockey. As for your stables, I haven’t the slightest clue where they are.’

‘Someone does. If it’s not you,’ said Dowd, still subjecting him to a piercing stare, ‘then who the devil is it?’

They left early on Sunday morning. Robert Colbeck had hired a trap so that he could drive Madeleine Andrews to her rendezvous with the barmaid at the Shepherd and Shepherdess. On the ride there, he explained precisely what he wanted her to do when she met Bonny Rimmer. Madeleine was attentive. It was not the first time she had been given this kind of unofficial assignment so she had a degree of experience on which she could draw. Talk soon turned to the progress of the investigation. Colbeck told her about his visit to Epsom Downs.

‘Why didn’t you arrest Mr Fido?’ she said.

‘Because I could not build a convincing case against him in court,’ he confessed resignedly. ‘I’d need firmer evidence.’

‘You had that letter sent by one of your detectives.’

‘It would be almost impossible to establish that he ordered Peter Cheggin to provide the information. Hamilton Fido is far too clever. There’d be no direct link between him and Cheggin. Fido would always use intermediaries and I have no idea who they might be.’

‘Couldn’t your prisoner tell you?’

‘He’s too ashamed of what he did, Madeleine. I feel sorry for him. Cheggin has a wife and children. When he’s sentenced, they’ll be left to fend for themselves. In fact,’ he went on, ‘knowing Fido, he’ll probably try to force Mrs Cheggin to pay off her husband’s debts.’

‘There must be something you can arrest him for, Robert.’

‘I’m sure it will emerge in the fullness of time.’

When they got to the village, Colbeck did not head for the inn. He drove on to the little church at the top of the hill. Its bell was ringing sonorously in the tower. As he brought the trap to a halt, Colbeck saw a few people going in through the porch.

‘How did you know what time the service was?’ she said.

‘I took the trouble to find out when I was last here.’

‘Why?’

‘Because that’s where we’ll find Bonny Rimmer.’

‘How do you know?’

‘She’s mourning a loved one,’ said Colbeck. ‘She needs help. My guess is that she’ll turn to the church.’

He got out of the trap, tethered the horse then offered a hand to assist her down. When Madeleine stepped onto the ground, she straightened her dress and adjusted her hat. She was thrilled when he extended an arm for her to take. They went through the lychgate together and into the little churchyard where tombs, monuments and stone crosses were clustered together at odd angles and surrounded by uncut grass and bramble. The church itself had stood on the same spot for over five hundred years and it showed clear signs of decrepitude.

When they left the morning sunshine, they entered the chill interior of the building. Wooden pews ran down either side of the nave and there was a scattering of worshippers there. Colbeck could not identify the woman who knelt in the front pew wearing black but he was certain that it was Bonny Rimmer. He and Madeleine sat halfway down the nave and bent their heads in prayer. It was the first time they had been in a church together and the significance of attending morning service as a couple was lost on neither of them.

The vicar was a white-haired old man who took the service briskly and who preached a combative sermon as if addressing a full congregation rather than a mere nine parishioners. When it was over, he stood at the door to bid farewell to people as they left. Bonny Rimmer remained immoveable in her pew. Colbeck and Madeleine shook hands with the vicar and made complimentary remarks about the service before moving out into the porch. Most of the others had drifted away but they lingered in the churchyard.

‘Wait for her here,’ said Colbeck. ‘She stayed behind for some words of comfort from the vicar.’

‘Where will you be, Robert?’

‘In the trap – I’d only be in the way.’

‘Suppose that she won’t speak to me?’

‘I think she’ll be grateful for sympathy from anyone.’

‘I’ll do my best,’ said Madeleine.

He touched her arm. ‘That’s why I brought you.’

Putting on his hat, he went out through the lychgate and took up his position in the trap. Madeleine, meanwhile, read some of the inscriptions chiselled into the stone and let her thoughts turn to the death of her mother. It had been so sudden and unexpected that it had left her father in a daze for weeks. Though trying to cope with her own bereavement, Madeleine had also had to help him through his despair. It had forged a strong bond between father and daughter. As she read some of the elaborate and sentimental epitaphs, she remembered the simplicity of the inscription on her mother’s tombstone and wished that these neglected graves could be tended with as much loving care as she and her father always showed.

It was some time before Bonny Rimmer came out of the church. When she did so, her head was down and she clutched a prayer book in her hand. Madeleine stepped back onto the path to intercept her.

‘Miss Rimmer?’ she began.

‘Oh!’ cried Bonny.

She looked up in dismay as if someone had just bumped into her. Madeleine saw the oval face, drained of colour and framed by the black bonnet. The girl had been crying and there were dark patches beneath her eyes. She was patently bewildered.

‘My name is Madeleine Andrews,’ said the other, ‘and I’d like to offer my sincerest condolences. I know that you’ve suffered a terrible loss and I’m sorry to intrude on your grief.’

‘You knew John?’

‘No, but I’m aware of what happened to him. I’m a friend of Inspector Colbeck’s. He told me what had happened.’

‘He was kind,’ murmured Bonny.

‘I wonder if I might talk to you for a moment?’

The girl’s face was blank. ‘Talk?’

‘About your friendship with John Feeny.’

‘He was a wonderful person, Miss Andrews.’

Madeleine gave a gentle smile. ‘Tell me about him.’

Taking her by the elbow, she led Bonny across to a wooden bench that had been stained by age and autographed by youthful parishioners with sharp knives. They sat down together. Bonny gazed at her with a curiosity tempered by anxiety.

‘What do you want?’ she said.

‘I want to do all I can to help the police catch the man who killed your friend. I’m sure that you want to do the same.’

‘Yes, yes, I do.’

‘Then talk to me about John.’

Bonny was lost. ‘What am I to say?’

‘Tell me how you first met him.’

The barmaid began slowly, stopping from time to time as the pain of recollection became too acute. Madeleine said nothing, sharing her anguish, offering solace, acting as a silent and uncritical witness. The tale eventually gathered pace. Bonny had met John Feeny when he came to the inn with a group of other lads from the stables. He had seemed quieter and more thoughtful than the others. While they had flirted with her, Feeny stood shyly on the side and watched.

Then the day came when one of the grooms tried to molest her. He was very drunk and the others had egged him on. He caught Bonny in the yard at the rear of the inn and pounced on her. John Feeny was the only person who responded to her scream. Rushing out of the bar, he tore her attacker off and flung him to the ground. A fierce struggle ensued. The other groom was bigger and older than Feeny but that made no difference. The Irish lad was so incensed that Bonny had been assaulted that he fought like a demon and put his opponent to flight. Full of gratitude, the barmaid had washed the blood from Feeny’s face.

‘So he wasn’t quiet all the time,’ she said softly. ‘John had a real temper. He never turned it on me but it was there. He wasn’t afraid of getting hurt – that’s why he’d have made a good jockey. And he was so brave, Miss Andrews.’

‘Brave?’

‘Yes,’ replied Bonny. ‘Do you know how he came to England?’

‘On a boat, I suppose.’

‘But he had no money for the passage. John had a row with Mr Dowd – that’s the man who owned the stables – and walked out. John was so keen to get to this country that he sneaked aboard a boat and hid under a tarpaulin.’ She smiled for the first time. ‘Now isn’t that brave?’

‘Brave but foolhardy.’

‘That’s what John was like. He took chances. When the boat was a mile or so away from Anglesey, they caught him. Do you know what the captain told him? He said that if John was that keen to get here, he could swim. So they threw him overboard.’

Madeleine was shocked. ‘He might have drowned.’

‘Not him,’ said Bonny. ‘He swam ashore and dried himself off. Then he made his way to London by walking and begging lifts off carters. At long last, he found his uncle and started to look for work. Weeks and weeks later, he got a job at the stables down here.’

‘And he met you.’

‘Yes – we made so many plans together.’

‘Plans?’ repeated Madeleine.

‘For when he became a jockey,’ explained Bonny. ‘John said he’d make enough money to look after me. I wouldn’t have to work at the inn any more. He wanted me all to himself.’

Madeleine was deeply moved by the tenderness with which she spoke of John Feeny and she learnt far more about the groom than Colbeck had done when he spoke to Bonny Rimmer. The presence of another woman had unlocked memories that the girl would otherwise have kept to herself. Uncertain at first, she was now eager to talk about her relationship and the facts tumbled out. She talked of secret meetings, bold ambitions and an exchange of vows. Bonny and the young Irishman had decided to get married one day.

‘Who could possibly have wanted to hurt him?’ said Madeleine.

‘Nobody – he was the kindest person I ever met.’

‘What about the groom who had a fight with John?’

‘Oh, he was sacked a long time ago.’

‘He could have come back to get his revenge.’

‘He’d never do a thing like that.’

‘You told Inspector Colbeck about a man that John had met.’

‘A real gentleman, he was,’ said Bonny, ‘or so John thought at first. He wanted information about Limerick Lad – that’s one of the runners in the Derby. He offered him money but John refused. The man wasn’t so friendly then – he threatened John.’

‘So I understand.’

‘He had no choice, Miss Andrews,’ said Bonny defensively. ‘If it was known that he’d worked for Mr Dowd, he’d have been kicked out of the stables. They’d have thought he was a spy.’

‘Instead of which,’ noted Madeleine, seeing the irony of the situation, ‘he was being asked to spy on Mr Dowd himself.’

‘John was helping to look after Mr Hamilton’s horse, Merry Legs, but the man wasn’t worried about her in the Derby. All he wanted to hear about was Limerick Lad.’

‘What did he tell you about this man?’

‘Very little.’

‘Was he young or old, tall or short? How did he dress?’

‘John said he was well dressed,’ she recalled. ‘He wasn’t old but I’ve no idea how tall he was. The man had money. He gave some to John and told him there’d be a lot more when they met to have a long talk about Mr Dowd’s stables.’ She pulled the sleeve of her dress back to expose a delicate silver bangle. ‘John used the money to buy this for me. Then he went off to meet this man in London.’

‘Did he say where the meeting was to take place?’

‘No, Miss Andrews,’ said Bonny, brightening for a moment, ‘but he promised to buy me another present when he got the rest of the money.’ Her face clouded. ‘I never saw John alive again.’

Surprised to receive the summons, Marcus Johnson responded to it at once. He went to the house to see Kitty Lavender, kissing her on the cheek when they met. She let him into her drawing room and shut the door. Putting his hat down, he beamed at her.

‘Three meetings in a week,’ he said. ‘This is a treat. We rarely see each other more than three times in a year.’

‘I wanted your advice, Marcus.’

‘I’m always ready to give that, bidden or unbidden.’

‘Sit down,’ invited Kitty, taking a seat well away from him. ‘And thank you for coming so promptly.’

‘I hoped you might have gleaned some information for me,’ he said, settling into his chair. ‘That’s why I rushed here. Any warm hints from Hamilton?’

‘He still believes that Merry Legs will win.’

‘I want to know why. When I met him at Epsom yesterday, he’d tell me nothing. It was like trying to get blood from a stone. However,’ he went on, sensing her concern, ‘you obviously don’t want to hear any more about the Derby. What’s this about advice?’

‘Do you remember my telling you about that missing hatbox?’

‘Yes – it was stolen from some hotel or other, wasn’t it?’

‘The police wish to speak to me about it.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because that’s what Inspector Colbeck said both to Hamilton and to Lord Hendry. Somehow he found out that I was connected with both of them and tried to get my name from them.’

‘I hope they had the decency to refuse,’ said Johnson sharply. ‘I’d certainly have done so in their position.’

‘They didn’t give me away, Marcus.’

‘Good for them! You’re an innocent party here, Kitty. You don’t want your name entangled in a murder investigation. If it got into the papers, it could be very embarrassing for you.’

‘That’s my fear. I’m worried.’

‘About what?’

‘Inspector Colbeck,’ she said. ‘Lord Hendry came here to warn me that he was looking for me and Hamilton actually urged me to go to Scotland Yard.’

‘Why did he do that?’

‘When he was questioned by Inspector Colbeck, he refused to give my name. That could be seen as withholding evidence. On the eve of Derby Week, the worst thing for Hamilton is to get embroiled with the police.’

Johnson laughed. ‘He’s spent most of his life getting embroiled with the police, Kitty. That’s why I like him so much – he outwits them at every turn. I wish I had his effrontery.’

‘What would you advise me to do?’

‘Stay in the shadows and say nothing.’

‘Even if this detective is looking for me?’

‘Forget about Inspector Colbeck,’ he said expansively. ‘He’s no threat to you. As it happens, I met the fellow myself only yesterday when I was chatting to Hamilton at the racecourse. He didn’t impress me, Kitty. He’s like all policeman – plodding and slow-witted. If neither Hamilton nor Lord Hendry surrenders your name, Colbeck would never be able to identify you.’

‘Yet he knows I befriended both of them.’

‘That’s all he knows and all he will know. What purpose can be served by questioning you?’ he asked with a grin. ‘Unless he wants you to discuss their respective merits in the boudoir, that is.’

‘Don’t be unseemly, Marcus.’

‘I’m only trying to look at the situation through your eyes. If you were able to help the police solve this horrendous murder, then I’d take you to Scotland Yard myself. But that’s not the position you’re in. As far as I know, you can’t shed any light on the crime.’

‘None at all,’ she said plaintively. ‘What I want to avoid at all costs is facing Inspector Colbeck and enduring his disapproval at the way I choose to live.’

Johnson guffawed. ‘If he disapproved of you,’ he said, ‘then he’d hold up his hands in horror at the kind of existence I lead. It may be sinful to say this on the Sabbath but I believe moral standards are nothing but silly impediments to happiness.’

‘There’s nothing useful I can tell the police.’

‘Then steer clear of them.’

‘What about Hamilton?’ she said, still worrying. ‘Unless I go to Scotland Yard, they may harass him again.’

‘He can run rings around a man like Inspector Colbeck.’

‘What if the inspector sees the two of us together at the Derby?’

‘Make sure that he doesn’t, Kitty. Exercise discretion – you’re an expert at that. My feeling is this,’ he went on, rising to his feet. ‘The only time we should get involved with the police is when we are in danger. Otherwise, the less the Inspector Colbecks of this world know about us, the better.’ He flashed her a smile. ‘Have I answered your question, Kitty?’

‘Yes, Marcus,’ she said. ‘You’ve put my mind at rest.’

‘Then I’d like you to do the same for me.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I want you to tell me why you behaved so oddly when I arrived,’ he said. ‘Why you only offered one cheek for me to kiss and why you sat just as far away from me as you could. I’d also like to know why you’re wearing so much powder on your face today. What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing – nothing at all.’

‘I don’t believe you, Kitty.’

‘I’m fine, I tell you.’

‘That’s not the feeling I get,’ he said, crossing over to her and pushing back the hair from one temple to reveal a bruise that was only half-hidden by cosmetics. He was shocked. ‘Who did this to you?’

‘Nobody – I slipped and fell.’

‘You’re far too sure-footed for that.’

‘It was a stupid accident,’ she said with a shrill laugh.

‘You’re lying to me, Kitty. I think somebody hit you.’

‘No!’

‘Was it Hamilton?’ he asked, letting the hair fall back over the bruise. ‘If he’s been knocking you about, he’ll suffer for it. Tell me the truth – was it him?’

‘No, Marcus.’

‘Do you swear that?’

‘Yes – Hamilton is considerate. He’d never lay a finger on me.’

‘Then who was responsible?’

‘It was my own fault, I tell you.’

‘But I don’t believe you,’ he said, trying to contain his anger. ‘Somebody else gave you that bruise or you wouldn’t be so eager to disguise it from me. Who was it, Kitty? I insist on being told.’

There was no chance of deceiving him. Marcus Johnson was too sharp-eyed and too familiar with his half-sister’s manner to be fooled. All his protective instincts had been aroused. Kitty was touched but she was still reluctant to tell him the truth. When she remembered what had happened, she was filled with shame and discomfort. She could feel the stinging blow from the cane all over again.

‘Tell me his name, Kitty,’ he demanded. ‘This is one time when I might actually be able to be useful to you. Who is he?’

She swallowed hard. ‘Lord Hendry,’ she said.

Sunday was no day of rest for Edward Tallis. A deeply religious man, he first attended a service of Holy Communion at his parish church. It left him both spiritually replenished and reinvigorated to continue the unending fight against crime. He adjourned to Scotland Yard. Most of the day was spent reviewing the security arrangements for Derby Week. In the evening, by prior arrangement, he had a meeting in his office with Robert Colbeck and Victor Leeming. The superintendent was used to seeing Colbeck look immaculate but the sight of Leeming in his best suit was something of a novelty. For once in his life, the sergeant had achieved a miraculous smartness.

Predictably, the meeting began with a rebuke for Colbeck.

‘You made a bad mistake, Inspector,’ he said, using a paper knife to wag at Colbeck. ‘You should have arrested Hamilton Fido.’

‘On what charge, sir?’

‘Keeping a paid informer in the Detective Department.’

‘I explained that,’ Colbeck reminded him. ‘I lacked sufficient evidence to convict him. He argues that Cheggin provided information voluntarily as a means of settling his gambling debts.’

‘Gambling is a disease,’ said Tallis, gaze shifting to Leeming, ‘and we see what havoc it can wreak in the life of a man like Constable Cheggin. Next time you have the urge to bet on the Derby, Sergeant, call that to mind or you’ll end up in the same cell as him.’

‘Hardly, sir,’ said Leeming, aggrieved. ‘I only have a bet once in a blue moon and always with small amounts of money. There’s no danger of me going the same way as Peter.’

‘Once the disease gets hold of you, there’s no cure.’

‘Victor knows that full well,’ said Colbeck, heading off another homily from Tallis, ‘and is too aware of his family responsibilities to get infected. His study of the Derby field has not only been for the purposes of selecting a winner, sir. At my suggestion, he’s been doing something else as well.’

‘What’s that?’ asked Tallis.

‘Trying to sift out possible suspects. Consider the situation that we have before us. Three horses stand out from the rest. Each of their owners has – to put it mildly – experienced difficulties of late. Each one has accused his two rivals of the various crimes committed.’

‘What we have to ask,’ Leeming interjected, ‘is cui bono.’

Tallis’s mouth dropped open in wonderment. The sergeant had many sterling virtues but knowledge of Latin was not one of them. His strengths lay in his tenacity and courage.

‘Who stands to gain?’ Leeming continued. ‘That’s what it means – or so the inspector tells me, anyway. If all three fancied horses were put out of the race, who would be the likely winner?’

‘Don’t ask me, man!’ scolded Tallis.

‘According to the odds, sir, Aleppo, Gladiator and Royal Realm would come to the fore. Someone connected with one of those horses could be behind all the upset.’

‘A vicious murder is rather more than an upset, Leeming, but I take your point. The owners of those three horses must be kept under suspicion. Indeed,’ said Tallis, ‘it seems to me that anyone involved in the Derby must be watched carefully. I did a little research into the event and it confirmed my long-held belief that horseracing is a sordid business.’

‘It has its darker side, sir,’ conceded Colbeck.

‘Ten years ago, in 1844, the winner of the Derby was a four-year-old called Maccabeus, masquerading under the name of Running Rein. It was a year older than any other animal in the race.’

‘The fraud was eventually exposed, Superintendent, and it left a stain on the event that will be difficult to eradicate. I think we face an even more blatant example of villainy and intrigue this year. For the sake of the Derby, we must catch the people behind these crimes.’

‘For the sake of our reputation, you mean,’ corrected Tallis.

‘That goes without saying, sir.’

‘So what have you learnt since we last met?’

‘I made some more enquiries about John Feeny,’ said Colbeck, ‘and discovered new facts that altered my view of him slightly.’

Without mentioning that he had been there with Madeleine Andrews, he talked about his visit to church that morning and related what Bonny Rimmer had disclosed. Feeny was no longer the hapless victim they had assumed him to be. The person who got closest to him described an ambitious, dedicated, brave young man given to fits of temper and unwilling to take criticism.

‘Brian Dowd told me that he and Feeny were on good terms when the lad left his stables,’ said Colbeck, ‘but that’s not true. They had a violent row, it seems, and Feeny stormed out. He stowed away on a boat sailing for Anglesey.’

‘As if we didn’t have enough Irish over here!’ sighed Tallis.

‘I think the man we’re looking for is the one who claimed to be seeking information about Limerick Lad. Once he’d lured Feeny away from the stables, he killed and beheaded him. The same man probably tried to cripple Odysseus and he may even have sent that anonymous letter to Tim Maguire. One way and another,’ said Colbeck, ‘he’s determined to stop the fancied horses from winning.’

‘Who’s paying him, Inspector?’ asked Leeming.

Tallis had the answer. ‘I’m certain it was Hamilton Fido,’ he said, slapping the paper knife down on the desk. ‘You should have arrested him when you had the chance, Inspector, instead of letting him stay free to cause more trouble.’

‘We could never prove that he instructed Peter Cheggin to act as his spy,’ said Colbeck. ‘Our case would be laughed out of court.’

‘Then arrest him for refusing to name the young lady with whom he spent the night at the Wyvern Hotel. In remaining silent,’ said the superintendent, ‘Fido is denying us the opportunity to collect evidence that might be of critical importance in a murder investigation.’

‘You wish me to arrest him now, sir?’

‘Yes, I do.’

‘Then I’ll also have to take Lord Hendry into custody on the identical charge,’ said Colbeck, ‘for he has also declined to cooperate with the police. What good that will do, I fail to see, but it would have one immediate effect.’

‘What’s that?’

‘To frighten away the young lady we’re anxious to speak to, sir. She’ll disappear completely and we’ll be left to fight a ferocious battle against the respective lawyers of Lord Hendry and Hamilton Fido.’

‘I agree with the inspector,’ said Leeming.

‘Was your opinion sought?’ asked Tallis nastily.

‘No, sir.’

‘Then keep it to yourself.’

‘We could be sued for wrongful arrest,’ warned Colbeck. ‘Lord Hendry is a man of considerable influence and Fido exerts power of another kind. Both are staking an enormous amount on this year’s Derby. If they’re languishing in a police cell while the race is being run, there’ll be serious repercussions.’

Before he could signal his agreement, Leeming was quelled with a glance from the superintendent. Tallis was forced to rethink his tactics. He was under severe pressure from the commissioner and from the press to solve the murder of John Feeny and he wanted to be seen to be taking positive steps. At the same time, he did not wish to end up in a legal wrangle that would simply hamper the inquiry. With reluctance, he accepted what Colbeck had just told him.

‘What would you advise, Inspector?’ he said.

‘Let them stay free,’ urged Colbeck. ‘We’ll find out the young lady’s name without their help. What we need to do is to keep an eye on all three owners, Lord Hendry, Fido and Brian Dowd. It’s only a matter of time before one of their horses is in danger again.’

Sidney had worked at the stables for years. The little terrier acted as a guard dog, kept the place free of vermin and made a nuisance of himself whenever the yard was full of horses. The rest of the time, he liked to curl up in the straw in one of the stalls and sleep. That was exactly where the groom found the dog when he brought Merry Legs back from her morning gallop. As he led the animal into the stall, he gave Sidney a friendly kick to get rid of him but there was no response. A harder kick made the dog roll over limply.

The groom was alarmed. Sidney was clearly dead. In the corner of the stall was a pail of water from which the dog might well have drunk. Realising that, the groom flew into a panic. He led the filly quickly back into the yard and called to the trainer.

‘Mr Stenton!’ he yelled at the top of his voice. ‘Come quickly, sir. I think someone tried to poison Merry Legs.’

CHAPTER TEN

When the detectives eventually reached the stables, Alfred Stenton was still shuttling between blind rage and deep sadness. Robert Colbeck introduced his sergeant but the trainer was too preoccupied even to shake hands with Victor Leeming. The death of his dog had shaken him badly and left him lusting for vengeance.

‘They poisoned Sidney,’ said Stenton, grief-stricken. ‘I’ve had him for years. He’s been our mascot here at the stables.’

‘What exactly happened?’ asked Colbeck. ‘All that the message told us was that an attempt had been made to kill Merry Legs.’

‘A failed attempt,’ added Leeming.

‘We’d appreciate more details, Mr Stenton.’

The trainer nodded. It was Hamilton Fido who had reported the crime and the detectives had set out immediately for the stables. Only two days after he had tried to arrest the bookmaker, Colbeck had now been summoned to help him. Breaking the law when it suited him, Fido was obviously not slow to call in those who enforced it when he felt the need to do so. Stenton escorted his visitors to the stall where his dog had perished and indicated the pail of water.

‘Sidney must have drunk from that,’ he said. ‘He shouldn’t even have been in here but somebody left the door open and in he came. One of the grooms found him dead in the straw.’

Colbeck bent beside the pail. ‘I take it that this stall was occupied by Merry Legs?’

‘Until this morning – I’ve had her moved.’

‘I’m glad you didn’t throw the water away, Mr Stenton. We’ll take a sample with us so that it can be analysed.’ He stood up. ‘I’ll leave that to you, Victor.’

‘Yes, Inspector,’ said Leeming, producing a small bottle from his pocket and dipping it in the water. ‘I’m sorry about your dog, sir, but at least it wasn’t Merry Legs.’

‘I’ll kill the man who did this!’ vowed Stenton.

‘He’ll have to face proper judicial process,’ said Colbeck. ‘First of all, of course, we have to catch him. He’s clearly someone familiar with your stables or he wouldn’t have known in which stall to poison the water. And he’s obviously aware of your daily routine. He struck when the yard was virtually deserted.’

‘There were a couple of lads about.’

‘Did they see anything unusual?’

‘Nothing,’ said Stenton. ‘My first thought was that one of them had been responsible and I put the fear of death into them. I’m sure they were both innocent. They were as upset about Sidney as me.’

‘What did you do next, sir?’

‘I sent word to Mr Fido then I spoke to every single person here, one by one. We’ve already had one spy at the stables and I wanted to make certain that we didn’t have another. I really interrogated them, Inspector.’

‘I can well imagine.’

‘So I know that none of them was involved.’

‘What about John Feeny?’ asked Leeming, slipping the bottle and its contents into his pocket. ‘Perhaps he was linked to this in some way. We know that a man arranged a secret meeting with him. He could have got details about the running of the stables out of the lad before he killed him.’

Stenton frowned. ‘What’s this about a secret meeting?’

‘It’s something I discovered from the barmaid at the Shepherd and Shepherdess,’ explained Colbeck. ‘She and Feeny were close friends, it seems. He told her about a man who demanded information about Limerick Lad. Feeny had to comply. The man threatened to reveal that he had once worked for Brian Dowd and get him sacked.’

‘Sacked!’ exclaimed the trainer. ‘Torn limb from limb, you mean!’

‘Don’t speak ill of the dead, sir.’

‘Feeny got what he deserved.’

‘I’m sorry that you can mourn a dog and find no sympathy for a human being who was brutally murdered,’ said Colbeck, shooting him an admonitory look. ‘The sergeant makes a valid point, however. Before he was killed, John Feeny might well have had everything he knew about your stables wrung out of him. Though, from what I’ve heard about Feeny, he would never have given that information freely.’

‘All I’m worried about now is Merry Legs,’ said Stenton.

‘Understandably.’

‘I’m having her watched night and day and I’m supervising her food and water myself.’

‘A sensible precaution,’ said Colbeck. ‘What troubles me are the lengths to which someone is prepared to go. Why use poison when something less lethal could have been put in that water? Why try to kill Merry Legs when you could keep her out of the race simply by giving her some kind of abdominal disorder?’

‘That’s what I was thinking, Inspector,’ said Leeming. ‘Whoever he is, this man does not believe in half-measures.’

‘Arrest the person who set him on to do this,’ urged Stenton.

‘We would if we knew who he was, sir.’

‘Brian Dowd is behind this. Find him before I do.’

‘Do you have any proof that Mr Dowd is implicated?’ said Colbeck calmly. ‘If so, we’d be very glad to see it.’

‘It has to be him, Inspector.’

‘I’d doubt that, sir. Victor and I have both met the gentleman and one thing was clear to both of us. Mr Dowd loves racehorses. I can’t believe that he would deliberately harm one of them, whatever his feelings about its owner.’

‘I agree,’ said Leeming. ‘I saw Mr Dowd at his stables. He lives and breathes racehorses. Why should he pay someone to attack Merry Legs when he’s so convinced that Limerick Lad can beat her easily in the Derby?’

‘If you two don’t tackle him,’ warned Stenton, ‘then I will.’

‘You’d never get close to him, sir. He has a bodyguard called Seamus who carries a loaded shotgun. I don’t think he’d need much excuse to use it.’

‘Besides,’ said Colbeck, ‘we don’t want you trying to do our job for us, Mr Stenton. We’ll be speaking to Brian Dowd very soon.’

‘Make sure that you do.’

‘Before that, I’d like to talk to the groom who actually found your dog in here. With your permission, Victor and I will then take a look around to see if we can find the most likely place of access for any intruder.’

‘When you’ve done that, put the handcuffs on Brian Dowd.’

‘He’ll have to wait his turn in the queue, sir,’ said Colbeck. ‘It was Mr Fido who called on us and I feel duty bound to report to him. No need to ask where he’ll be at this moment.’

‘No, Inspector,’ said Stenton. ‘He’s at Epsom.’

Derby Week was a gambling extravaganza. Betting was brisk on all the races on the various cards but it was the Derby itself that commanded most attention. Sums ranging from the spectacular to the paltry had already been waged though wiser heads were reserving their options by delaying any decision until much nearer the event. Caught up in the frenzy of betting, Hamilton Fido was working at full tilt all morning and only allowed himself a small break for luncheon. He was annoyed to see Marcus Johnson heading in his direction.

‘Stop right there!’ he ordered, holding up a palm. ‘I’ve told you a hundred times, Marcus. I’m not giving you any advice.’

‘You don’t need to, Hamilton. I’ve got some for you.’

‘Oh?’

‘This is personal,’ said Johnson.

‘How personal?’

‘It concerns Kitty. We need to talk in private.’

‘What’s going on?’

‘I can’t tell you here.’

Fido got up from his chair and the two men left the refreshment room. They found a quiet corner behind the grandstand. Johnson’s face was grim. His normal ebullience had deserted him.

‘Before we go any further,’ he said, ‘I must tell you that Kitty doesn’t know I’m here. In fact, she begged me not to talk to you.’

‘Why not?’

‘You’ll soon understand why.’

‘Is she in trouble of some kind?’ asked Fido.

‘A small problem has arisen, Hamilton.’

‘Problem?’

‘It goes by the name of Lord Hendry,’ said Johnson. ‘I’m sure that you’re aware he once took an interest in Kitty.’

‘In my eyes,’ said the other, ‘it added to her attraction – not that she needed any additional appeal, mark you. I rather relished the idea of snatching her away from Lord Hendry. I can’t wait to dangle Kitty in front of him. It will be the first of two humiliations for the old goat.’

‘What’s the other one?’

‘Having to watch Odysseus being beaten by Merry Legs.’

‘Any other time,’ said Johnson with a half-smile, ‘I’d seize on that as reliable advice about where to place my bets. As it is, Kitty’s welfare comes first.’

‘Why – what’s happened to her?’

Johnson told him about his visit to the house the previous day and how he had sensed that his half-sister was trying to hide something from him. Once he had forced the truth out of her, she had gone on to explain the circumstances of the assault in more detail. He passed them on to Hamilton Fido. Simmering with fury throughout, the bookmaker at last erupted.

‘He actually struck Kitty?’ he said in horror.

‘Across the side of her head with his cane,’ replied Johnson.

‘The bastard!’

‘He went there to bully her into going to the police and ended up attacking her. Apparently, it was the mention of your name that really set him off. Lord Hendry went berserk.’

‘I’ll go berserk when I catch up with him,’ growled Fido.

‘My first instinct was to charge off to confront him but I thought that you ought to know what was going on.’

‘Thank you, Marcus – I’m very grateful.’

‘Lord Hendry’s assault was utterly unforgivable.’

‘Cruel, undeserved and unbecoming a gentleman.’

‘Kitty said that the pain was excruciating.’

‘The old fool will pay for this!’ said Fido.

‘There’s only one thing to decide,’ said Johnson solemnly.

‘Is there?’

‘Who challenges him to a duel first – you or me?’

Brian Dowd had brought a number of horses from Ireland with him and he had moved all of them to the racecourse over the weekend. Robert Colbeck and Victor Leeming found him at the stables allocated to him. He gave them a cheery welcome.

‘The two of you have come this time, have you?’ he said.

‘I didn’t want to get shot at by Seamus,’ joked Leeming, ‘so I made the inspector come with me in order to draw his fire.’

‘Oh, Seamus won’t bother you.’

‘It looks as if you got here safely, Mr Dowd,’ said Colbeck.

‘Yes, the journey was entirely without incident, I’m glad to say. Limerick Lad and the rest of my horses are all safely locked up.’

‘You might consider looking to your own safety, sir.’

‘Why is that, Inspector?’

‘Because you may get an unwelcome visitor,’ said Colbeck. ‘When we left Alfred Stenton a while ago, he was breathing fire through his nostrils.’

Dowd cackled. ‘That’s nothing new for Alfred!’

‘He blames you for what happened at his stables.’

Colbeck went on to tell him about the poisoned water that killed Sidney and how the trainer had immediately identified Dowd as the likely culprit. The Irishman was offended.

‘Accuse me, did he?’ he said indignantly. ‘I haven’t been anywhere near his stables and I certainly didn’t try to get his horse poisoned. Jesus – that’s a terrible crime, to be sure! Horses are wonderful animals. I’d never let one of them suffer like that.’

‘That’s what we told Mr Stenton, sir.’

‘Alfred wants to watch that loud mouth of his.’

‘You and he have often tussled in the past, I believe.’

‘I’ve taken on every trainer in England,’ boasted Dowd, ‘and, as often as not, I’ve put them to shame. When he was a two-year-old, Limerick Lad won the Champagne Stakes at Doncaster. Merry Legs, trained by Alfred Stenton, came in fourth. My horse went on to win the Criterion Stakes at Newmarket and Merry Legs was three lengths behind him. That’s why he’s throwing these foul accusations at me, Inspector. It’s pure spite.’

‘He still reckons that his filly will win the Derby,’ said Leeming.

‘You need three things to do that, Sergeant – the best horse, the best jockey and the best trainer. I have the first two of those things and I happen to be the third.’

‘Thing could still go wrong, sir.’

‘Yes,’ said Colbeck. ‘I watched the Derby one year and a horse ran amok at the start, unsaddling his jockey and causing mayhem among the other runners.’

‘Tim Maguire knows how to keep Limerick Lad out of trouble.’

‘Is there no horse in the field that you fear?’

‘None.’

‘What about Odysseus?’

‘The odds have shortened on the favourite,’ said Leeming. ‘Lord Hendry is so convinced that he’ll win that he’s had Odysseus’s portrait painted. We saw it hanging on the wall of his library.’

Dowd grinned. ‘Then he’ll soon have to take it down,’ he said. ‘As luck happens, I chanced to meet Lord Hendry myself. He’s as bad as Alfred Stenton – he accused me of trying to injure his horse. The nerve of it!’ he went on. ‘I want Odysseus and Merry Legs in this race so that Limerick Lad can show them a clean pair of heels.’

‘Have any more approaches been made to your jockey?’

‘I’ll say they have, Sergeant Leeming. Two ruffians called on Tim the other night to cudgel him out of the race. We saw them off with a shotgun. I keep my leading jockey well guarded.’

‘Why didn’t you report the attack to us?’ asked Colbeck.

‘We took care of it ourselves.’

‘A serious crime might have been committed. A record should be made of that, Mr Dowd. As soon as there was trouble at Mr Fido’s stables, he sent for us at once.’

‘I think that’s rich,’ said Dowd, laughing derisively. ‘A black-hearted crook like Hamilton Fido, calling on the police – now I’ve heard everything!’

‘We’ve just been looking for him but Mr Fido has disappeared for some reason. His assistants are taking bets in his stead. That being the case, we thought we’d talk to you first.’

‘Always nice to see the friendly face of the law.’

‘There aren’t many who think that,’ said Leeming.

‘Other people don’t have clear consciences, Sergeant.’

‘Do you, sir?’

‘My mind is entirely free of guilt.’

‘Really, sir?’ said Colbeck. ‘Didn’t you feel even the tiniest twinge of guilt when you lied to me about John Feeny?’

Dowd stiffened. ‘I did nothing of the kind, Inspector.’

‘You told me that you’d parted on good terms.’

‘That’s true. I held no grudges.’

‘Then why didn’t you give him his full wages? According to you, before he left Dublin, you handed him some extra money to help him on his way.’ Colbeck watched him closely. ‘Do you remember telling me that, Mr Dowd, or do you think I’m misrepresenting you?’

‘That’s what I said and that’s what I stand by.’

‘Feeny left your stables after a violent row with you.’

‘A few hot words were exchanged, maybe, but that was all.’

‘You held back all of the money you owed him.’

‘Who’s been telling you all this baloney?’ said Dowd truculently, ‘That’s what it is, Inspector. I was there with the lad so I know what happened. Nobody can gainsay it.’

‘One person can,’ rejoined Colbeck, ‘and that’s Feeny himself. He found himself a sweetheart when he was here and told her his story. It was she who wrote those letters to Jerry Doyle. I’ve spoken to the girl and her version of events is very different to yours.’

‘Who is this creature?’

‘She’s a barmaid at an inn that Feeny frequented.’

‘A barmaid!’ Dowd was contemptuous. ‘You’d take the word of a barmaid against that of someone like me? Thank you very much!’ Arms akimbo, he spoke with feeling. ‘John Feeny left my stables under a cloud because he made the mistake of answering back to me. I don’t allow that in my yard, Inspector. When I told him that he didn’t have the talent to become a jockey, he lost his temper and swore at me. I threw him out there and then but had second thoughts later on. I liked the lad and didn’t want us to part like that. I made my peace with him and gave him some cash.’

‘If he had money in his pocket,’ said Colbeck, ‘why did he have to stow away on a boat?’

‘Because he probably spent what I gave him on drink,’ retorted Dowd. ‘That’s what he’d always done in the past. He had a streak of wildness in him, did John Feeny, or maybe the barmaid forgot to mention that? Good day, gentlemen,’ he said pointedly. ‘Instead of making false allegations against me, why don’t you spend your time hunting for the man who sent me Feeny’s head in a hatbox? Then you might actually be doing something useful. Excuse me,’ he added, turning on his heel to walk away. ‘I have work to do.’

‘I think you upset him, sir,’ said Leeming.

‘I must have caught him on a raw spot.’

‘I didn’t see any sign of guilt in him.’

‘No,’ said Colbeck. ‘You wouldn’t, I’m afraid. Whatever he’s done, I don’t think that Brian Dowd would have one iota of guilt.’

‘Is it something to do with being Irish, sir?’

‘No, Victor, it’s something to do with being involved in the world of horseracing. It’s a hard, cold, strange, unforgiving, venal world that operates by its own peculiar rules. Let’s see if we can find another of its denizens,’ he suggested. ‘The elusive Mr Hamilton Fido.’

Hamilton Fido maintained his surface bonhomie but he was seething inside. After being told about the way that Kitty Lavender had been treated, he was determined to strike back at Lord Hendry. He was glad that Marcus Johnson had informed him about an incident that his half-sister would have tried to conceal out of embarrassment. Fido not only felt an urge to leap to her defence, he realised how fond he had become of her during their short time together.

When they had first met, he had no illusions about the sort of woman that Kitty was and he accepted her on those terms. Their relationship was only the latest in a long series of amours that he had enjoyed over the years and none of them had lasted very long. Kitty Lavender was somehow different to the other women. She had a vivacity and intelligence that set her apart. The news that someone had hit her with his cane had awakened feelings in him that he had not believed were there. He experienced a new intensity. Hamilton Fido was hurt, proprietorial, bent on revenge.

The bookmaker knew where to find Lord Hendry but he did not want to accost him in public. Causing a scene would be foolish and unnecessary. Instead, he bided his time. Lord Hendry was surrounded by acquaintances in the grand salon, discussing the prospects of Odysseus and making predictions about other races during the week. It was over an hour before he broke away and headed for the door. As the older man came through it, Fido was waiting for him in the narrow passageway, blocking his path.

‘Out of my way, man!’ snapped Lord Hendry.

‘I want a word with you first.’

‘I’ve nothing to say to people of your ilk.’

‘Oh, I think you do,’ said Fido, squaring up to him. ‘It concerns a young lady named Kitty Lavender. I believe you paid her a visit recently.’

‘Stand aside,’ ordered Lord Hendry, ‘or I’ll report you to the Jockey Club for menacing conduct.’

‘It was you who resorted to menacing conduct with Kitty. Is it true that you struck her across the face?’

‘That’s my affair.’

‘And mine,’ said Fido, holding his ground. ‘I’ve come to exact retribution on her behalf.’

Lord Hendry sniggered. ‘Retribution – for a whore?’

‘Show more respect or you’ll regret it.’

‘It’s you who needs to show respect. Do you know who I am?’

‘Only too well,’ said Fido, looking him up and down. ‘I know who you are and what you are, Hendry – a coward, a bully and a damn rogue. You’re not fit to be called a gentleman. You’re a disgrace to the title you bear and it’s high time somebody told you.’

‘What happened to Kitty was long overdue.’

‘Do you have no remorse at all?’

‘None whatsoever,’ said the other, roused by the verbal attack on him. ‘I’d do exactly the same again. I’d never apologise to her or to you, for that matter. You’re two of a pair – loathsome, uneducated creatures who’ve dragged yourselves up from the gutter and learnt a few airs and graces. You’ll never be accepted in society. The stink of inferiority remains on both of you and always will.’

Fido had heard enough. Snatching the older man’s cane from him, he used it to knock off his top hat then he prodded him hard in the chest. Lord Hendry was frothing with outrage.

‘I’ll have the law on you for that!’ he cried.

‘If we’re talking about litigation,’ said Fido, tossing the cane aside, ‘then Kitty could bring an action against you for assault and battery. But this is a matter that can be settled out of court.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘I demand satisfaction,’ he went on, waving a fist. ‘Meet me at a time of your convenience and have the choice of weapons.’

Lord Hendry gasped. ‘You’re challenging me to a duel?’

‘I want to see if you have the courage to turn up.’

‘I’d never lower myself to fight with you.’

‘You’ll have to – I insist upon it.’

‘This is absurd!’

‘Select the time and place, Lord Hendry. Remember one thing.’

‘What’s that?’

‘You won’t be up against a defenceless young woman this time,’ said Fido warningly. ‘You’ll be facing another man.’

Lord Hendry was dumbstruck. Rooted to the spot, he could not hide the trepidation in his eyes. As he walked away, Hamilton Fido deliberately trod on the top hat as a signal of his future intent. The challenge had been issued. He wanted blood.

Travelling by cab, it had taken Kitty Lavender a long time to reach Epsom because of the huge volume of traffic on the road. She was staying in rooms that had been rented for her by Hamilton Fido and the first thing that she did when she got to the house was to change into her dressing gown and lie down for a rest. After a while, there was a knock on her door. Fearing that it might be Fido, she got up and hurried across to the mirror to adjust her hair so that it covered the bruise on her temple. There was a second knock.

‘Just a moment!’ she called.

She examined herself in the mirror until she was satisfied that her injury was all but invisible then she opened the door. Instead of the bookmaker, it was Marcus Johnson. Kitty was disappointed.

‘Oh!’ she sighed. ‘It’s you.’

‘I’ve had better welcomes than that,’ he complained.

‘I’m sorry, Marcus – come on in.’

‘Thank you.’ He entered the room and weighed it up at a glance. ‘This is quite luxurious. Hamilton has spared no expense. Prices for accommodation shoot up like rockets in Derby Week so he must love you.’ He took off his hat with a flourish and studied her face. ‘It hardly shows at all now, Kitty. It’s only your heart that’s still bruised.’

‘I prefer to forget that it ever happened,’ she said.

‘Well, I don’t – and neither does Hamilton.’

Kitty tensed. ‘You’ve told him?’

‘I felt obliged to do so,’ he replied. ‘If someone had assaulted a woman I adored, then I’d want to know about it.’

‘But I told you to keep it from him.’

‘That would have been unfair on Hamilton. It would also have let Lord Hendry off the hook and I was not going to allow that.’

‘How did he receive the news?’

‘With the same horror and disgust that I did.’

‘Oh, dear!’

‘I mean to confront Lord Hendry myself but I fancy that Hamilton will get there first. He was absolutely furious.’

She was alarmed. ‘What’s he going to do?’

‘I know what he ought to do,’ said Johnson savagely, ‘and that’s to horsewhip him ten times around the Derby course. The very least he’ll demand is an apology and some kind of reparation.’

‘He won’t get a penny from George,’ she said. ‘Nor an apology.’

‘Then the old roué will have to suffer the consequences.’

‘Consequences?’

‘If I know Hamilton Fido, he’ll challenge him to a duel.’

‘He mustn’t do that, Marcus!’ she protested.

‘It’s a matter of honour.’

‘Duelling is illegal. I don’t want Hamilton arrested.’

‘I’m sure they’ll find a venue that’s well hidden from the prying eyes of the police. Lord Hendry will be shaking in his shoes.’

‘I don’t care about him,’ said Kitty anxiously. ‘It’s Hamilton that I fear for. What weapons will they use?’

‘Pistols, most probably.’

‘Then I must warn him that George was in the army. He knows how to handle guns of all kinds. Shooting is one of his hobbies.’

‘Hamilton is much younger than he is,’ said Johnson. ‘His eyesight is better, his aim straighter and he’ll be the first to pull the trigger. Put your money on him.’

‘I don’t wish to put it on anyone. I want this duel stopped.’

‘But he’ll be protecting your honour, Kitty.’

‘That makes no difference,’ she said. ‘If he’s not killed, Hamilton could be wounded. And if he kills George, then he’ll be liable to arrest on a charge of murder. I don’t want him hanged.’

‘It will never come to that,’ he assured her. ‘A duel carries its own code. Whatever the outcome, nobody will be reported to the police. Have no qualms about Hamilton. He’s perfectly safe.’

‘Unless he’s shot dead by George.’

‘There’s no danger of that.’

‘But suppose that he was, Marcus,’ she said, trying to envisage the situation. ‘I’d lose Hamilton and George would get away scot-free.’

‘I could never allow that to happen.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You’re my half-sister, Kitty. We may spend most of our time apart but I’m devoted to you and I’ll not have you maltreated by anyone. There’s only one course of action for me to follow,’ he said, straightening his shoulders. ‘If Hamilton Fido doesn’t kill that aristocratic bastard – then I will.’

It was not until late afternoon that they ran the bookmaker to ground. They found it difficult to move in the swirling crowds. There were too many distractions. Left to himself, Victor Leeming would have explored the fairground and sampled some of the food and drink that was on sale. He was particularly interested in seeing the tattoed Polynesian lady, a woman of massive proportions, whose nude portrait was painted in lurid colours on a board outside one of the booths. But he and Robert Colbeck were there on duty and there was no time for entertainment. Making their way through the mass of people, they visited the betting office for the third time in a row and found that Hamilton Fido had at last returned.

When he saw the detectives approach, Fido excused himself from the man to whom he was talking and came over to them. Since the crowded room was no place for a private conversation, he led them out of the grandstand altogether and stood in the shadows at the rear.

‘You’re a difficult man to find,’ said Colbeck.

‘I’ve been very busy,’ explained Fido.

‘We came in response to your message. We spoke to Mr Stenton and he gave us the details of the crime. There’s no doubt that an attempt was made on the life of your filly.’

‘Someone should swing for this, Inspector.’

‘The least he can expect is a very long prison sentence.’

‘I want more than that.’

‘The law does not exist for the personal gratification of those, like yourself, who’ve been victims of a particular offence. Punishment is designed to fit the crime.’

‘Otherwise,’ said Leeming, ‘everybody we arrested would be dangling at the end of a rope, however minor his or her offence. The judge is there to impose the appropriate sentence.’

‘There’s only one thing appropriate for this villain,’ said Fido with vehemence, ‘and that’s a visit to the hangman. Do you know how much Merry Legs cost me? Do you know how much I’ve invested in training her? Do you realise how much I’d stand to lose if anything untoward happened to her?’

‘A lot of money, I suspect, sir.’

‘A fortune, Sergeant.’

‘That’s why we must look at those who’d stand to gain at your expense,’ said Colbeck. ‘Your trainer had no hesitation in singling out the man who instigated the attempted poisoning – Brian Dowd.’

‘That was the first name that popped into my mind.’

‘Has Mr Dowd ever done anything like this before?’

‘No,’ admitted Fido.

‘Have you ever known him injure a horse on purpose?’

‘I can’t say that I do.’

‘Then why do you assume that he must be behind this crime?’

‘Past experience,’ said Fido. ‘Every time our horses have been pitted against each other, we’ve had trouble from Dowd. If he can stoop to putting a spy in my stables, you can see how desperate he is.’

‘You’re wrong, sir,’ Colbeck told him. ‘John Feeny was no spy. My belief is that the killer wanted him to act as spy against Brian Dowd. We spoke to Mr Dowd earlier. He’s a shrewd man.’

‘Shrewd and slimy.’

‘There seem to be a lot of slimy individuals on the Turf, sir,’ said Leeming. ‘Our superintendent holds the view that horseracing is only a polite word for criminal activity.’

‘Yes,’ said Fido, ‘from people like Brian Dowd.’

‘Let’s put one myth to rest,’ said Colbeck, ‘because it’s patently clouding your judgement. When he worked at your stables, John Feeny developed an attachment to a young lady at a nearby inn. They even talked of marriage. She told me categorically that Feeny left Ireland after an argument with his employer and Mr Dowd now admits as much. Feeny was loyal to your stables, Mr Fido – he told the girl how much he’d love to see Merry Legs win the Derby instead of Limerick Lad.’

‘She will win, Inspector.’

Leeming grinned. ‘Do I have your word on that, sir?’

‘I wouldn’t put her in the race if I expected her to lose.’

‘That’s what you’re doing with Princess of Fire.’

‘She’s only in the Derby for experience. Merry Legs is there to wipe the smiles off the gloating faces of Brian Dowd and Lord Hendry.’

‘That’s in the lap of the gods at the moment,’ said Colbeck. ‘With regard to the poisoning of the dog, however, my own theory is that the person responsible is the same man who murdered John Feeny and who may also have tried to eliminate Odysseus from the Derby. Not content with those crimes, he’s made two attempts to ensure that Tim Maguire will not ride in Mr Dowd’s colours on Wednesday.’

‘Catch him before he causes any more damage,’ said Fido.

‘That’s our intention, sir,’ Colbeck promised. ‘Turning to another but not unconnected matter, we’re still waiting for the young lady who owned that hatbox to come forward.’

‘I’ve advised her to do so.’

‘She seems disinclined to take your advice, Mr Fido.’

‘I can’t compel her, Inspector.’

‘Perhaps not but you could apply more pressure, I feel. Point out to her that it’s in her best interests to assist us. Her hatbox was stolen and used in the course of a heinous crime. Surely she would want the killer to be apprehended.’

‘She does – it would relieve her mind greatly.’

‘Relieve mine by making her cooperate with the police. If she persists in avoiding us,’ said Colbeck, ‘we are bound to think that the lady has something she prefers to keep hidden.’

‘That’s not the case at all.’

‘Then use your influence over her, Mr Fido.’

‘My hands are rather full at the moment,’ said the other. ‘This is the most frantic time of the year for me.’

‘We’re not exactly short of work ourselves, sir,’ Leeming put in.

Colbeck smiled wryly. ‘That’s an understatement, Victor,’ he said. ‘This year’s Derby is keeping us well and truly on our toes. I still have hopes of watching the race itself but I’ll not enjoy it if the killer is still at large. He’ll be here, Mr Fido, ready to create more chaos for all of us. We need every ounce of help we can get from every available source. Tell that to the young lady,’ he ordered. ‘Either she comes forward voluntarily or we go looking for her with a warrant.’

The first day of Derby Week had been a sustained ordeal for Lord Hendry. Outwardly, it was a story of gain. He gained respect, flattery and admiration. Everyone he knew sought his advice. All of them congratulated him on the position that Odysseus held in the betting. He should have sailed through the day on recurring waves of affection and goodwill. Inwardly, however, he was contemplating a story of loss. He had failed in his attempt to borrow money from various friends. Pleasant discussions over glasses of champagne had all ended in polite refusal. Even his brother-in-law had turned down his request. As a gambling man, Lord Hendry had endured serious losses in recent months and he needed to recoup them on the Derby but he could only do that if he had enough capital to place on his horse. Everything depended on that one headlong race.

Another loss that troubled him was that of Kitty Lavender. He had been shocked to learn that she had betrayed him by turning to the one man he detested above all others. Lord Hendry’s loss was accentuated by Hamilton Fido’s gain. It was the bookmaker who would now enjoy her luscious kisses, her soft caresses and all of her unparalleled skills as a lover. Rather than yield her up to Fido, he would have preferred to keep her as his mistress and allow her to be seen with him in public.

Overarching all the other losses was the imminent loss of his life. He was a good shot but, if he fought a duel against a younger man, there was no guarantee that he would come through it alive. Lord Hendry could see only two ways out of his predicament. He could try to appease Kitty by writing her a letter of abject apology, hoping that she would make Fido stay his hand. Or he would have to make sure that the duel never took place by having his opponent disabled beforehand. Of the two possibilities, the second had more attraction. He had never apologised to one of his mistresses and did not wish to set a precedent with Kitty Lavender. Causing pain to a disagreeable bookmaker, on the other hand, would be pleasurable.

Though he wore a benign smile and waved to acquaintances on all sides, he was glad to be leaving Epsom at the end of the day. His carriage was waiting for him and he clambered into it. No sooner had he settled back than a man appeared beside him.

‘Lord Hendry?’ he enquired.

‘I have that honour, sir.’

‘It’s a dishonourable name, in my opinion,’ said Marcus Johnson baldly. ‘Titles should be bestowed on those who deserve them and who learn to behave with the dignity commensurate with their station. You are unable to do that.’

‘Who the devil are you?’ demanded Lord Hendry.

‘My name is Marcus Johnson.’

‘Then I bid you good day, Mr Johnson.’

‘Not so fast,’ said Johnson, reaching into the carriage to grab his arm. ‘I haven’t introduced myself fully yet. I’m surprised that Kitty hasn’t mentioned me to you. I’m her half-brother.’

‘I don’t care who you are – take your hand off me.’

Johnson released him. ‘Kitty told me what you did to her.’

‘I’m done with the woman. She belongs to my past.’

‘You can’t shake her off like that, my lord. It’s unkind, ungrateful and monstrously unfair. Have you had a visit from Hamilton Fido yet?’ Johnson laughed at his startled reaction. ‘Yes, I see that you have. As a matter of record, I was the one who told him how you struck Kitty.’

‘It was a glancing blow – nothing more.’

‘If it were the slightest touch, it would be unpardonable and we both know that it was far more than that. You might have cut her face open or taken her eye out. Did that never occur to you?’

‘You heard what I said, Mr Johnson – good day to you.’

‘You’ll not escape me that easily,’ said Johnson, opening the door to jump into the carriage.

‘Get out or I’ll have you thrown out!’

‘I’ll leave when I’m ready, Lord Hendry.’

‘I’ll stand no more of this infernal impudence.’

‘What are you going to do?’ taunted Johnson, grabbing the cane from the other man. ‘Hit me with this?’ He snapped the cane across his knee and tossed both pieces onto the ground. ‘I just wanted to deliver a message,’ he went on, leaning over to whisper in Lord Hendry’s ear. ‘I know that Hamilton planned to challenge you to a duel. I hope you survive – then I can have the supreme pleasure of shooting you myself.’

It was mid-evening by the time that Robert Colbeck and Victor Leeming returned by train to London. After sending the sergeant home to his family, Colbeck first delivered the bottle of poisoned water to a chemist for analysis then went off to give his report to Edward Tallis. The superintendent was not impressed with what he heard.

‘Is there no end to this?’ he grumbled. ‘One crime follows another in quick succession. As if a murder were not bad enough, we now have to investigate the attempted crippling of one racehorse, the attempted poisoning of another, a plot to suborn a jockey and, since that failed, a plan to beat him with cudgels. What’s next, Inspector?’

‘The arrest of the culprits, sir.’

‘I see no sign of that.’

‘We are getting closer all the time,’ said Colbeck. ‘And I doubt if there’ll be any more incidents involving the racehorses. Odysseus, Merry Legs and Limerick Lad are all being guarded with extreme care. Their respective owners will not let any unauthorised person near them. I’ve deployed some of our men to provide additional protection.’

‘I wish the Derby had never been invented!’ moaned Tallis.

‘Tens of thousands of people would disagree with that sentiment, sir. They’ll come from all over the country to see the race and there’ll be lots of people from abroad as well.’

‘Foreigners and Irish always bring trouble. The government should ban horseracing forthwith and keep out the riffraff from across the water altogether.’

‘I don’t think you’ll find a single Member of Parliament to support that idea,’ said Colbeck with amusement. ‘Derby Day is a national holiday. Parliament is suspended and many of the people who sit on its benches will be heading for Epsom. It’s a wonderful occasion, Superintendent. You’d enjoy it.’

‘I never enjoy uncontrolled revelry,’ said Tallis with distaste. ‘It leads to crime, drunkenness and fornication. It encourages the lower orders to take gross liberties. I’m surprised that someone as fastidious as you takes an interest in such a despicable event.’

‘There’s nothing deplorable about watching racehorses at full gallop, sir. It’s an inspiring sight. My interest in the Derby began some years ago,’ explained Colbeck, ‘when I was first called to the Bar. You’ve no idea how much litigation surrounds the race. It may delight the spectators who flock to Epsom but it also enriches the lawyers who are involved in the countless bitter disputes. When the Derby is at hand, passions run high. That’s why the courts are always full.’

‘Don’t talk to me about passions, Inspector. We’re the victims of them. Were it not for someone’s passion to win the Derby, we wouldn’t have this daunting catalogue of crime to deal with.’

‘I can’t say that I feel daunted, sir.’

‘Well, I do.’

‘Never a day passes but we gather important information.’

‘But look where it comes from,’ said Tallis. ‘That’s what worries me. The most important information to date has come from a clerk at the Wyvern Hotel and a barmaid at some country inn. Neither of them has taken us any closer to apprehending the killer.’

‘That’s not true,’ argued Colbeck. ‘Because he was vigilant, Dacre Radley noted that the same young woman stayed at his hotel with both Lord Hendry and Hamilton Fido. That was significant.’

‘It might be if you were able to question the woman but you seem unable to do so. Why is that?’

‘I’m addressing that problem, sir.’

‘Address it more robustly.’

‘Yes, Superintendent,’ said Colbeck. ‘As for the barmaid at the Shepherd and Shepherdess, she supplied us with valuable insights into the character of John Feeny and she may yet do more for us.’

‘In what way?’

‘You must understand her state of mind. When I told her about Feeny’s death, Bonny Rimmer was all but knocked senseless. All of the plans she had made with Feeny disappeared in an instant. It left her hurt, bewildered and consumed by grief. Days later, the girl had still not recovered from the blow. What I learnt from her,’ said Colbeck, relaying what Madeleine Andrews had, in fact, discovered, ‘was only part of the story. There’s more to come. Bonny Rimmer promised to contact me when she could think more clearly. She talked of keepsakes that Feeny had given her, for instance.’

‘Keepsakes?’ snorted Tallis. ‘What use are they?’

‘They’re clues to the sort of person Feeny really was, sir.’

‘We know the sort of person he is – a dead one. He’s a murder victim, Inspector. Instead of worrying about him any more, you should concentrate solely on his killer.’

‘I need the lad’s help to do that,’ said Colbeck, ‘and I have every hope that he’ll give it to me. Dead men should never be discounted as a source of information. John Feeny is a case in point, sir. My belief is that he will rise from the grave to assist us.’

‘Let me see it, Kitty.’

‘No,’ she replied.

‘Show me where he hit you.’

‘There’s no point, Hamilton. The bruise has gone now.’

‘Which side of the head was it?’

‘Leave me be. It doesn’t matter any more.’

‘Oh, yes, it does,’ said Hamilton Fido sternly. ‘It matters a great deal to me and to Marcus. Nobody touches you with impunity. Now, please – let me see.’

Kitty Lavender and the bookmaker were in one of the rooms he had rented for her near the racecourse. All her attempts to conceal her injury were in vain. He was insistent. After another round of protests, she eventually gave in.

‘You’re making far too much fuss over it,’ she said.

‘Which side?’

‘On the left.’

He pushed her hair back gently and saw how much powder she had used on her temple. Taking out a handkerchief, he first licked it then applied it gingerly to her head. As the powder was wiped off, the vestigial bruise slowly came into view. Fido was incensed.

‘Lord Hendry did this to you?’ he exclaimed, standing back.

‘Yes.’

‘I’ll murder him!’

‘Calm down, Hamilton.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me about this?’

‘Because I was afraid of the way you’d react,’ she said, ‘and I was right to do so. Both you and Marcus flew off the handle.’

‘Do you blame us?’

‘No – I blame myself.’

‘Yourself?’

‘I provoked him, Hamilton. I couldn’t resist hurling your name at him. That was too much for George to bear.’

‘Nothing can excuse what he did, Kitty.’

‘Oh, I don’t excuse it,’ she said ruefully, ‘believe me. I intended to get my revenge on George but I meant to do it in my own way.’

‘I’m doing it on your behalf.’

‘Is it true that you’ve challenged him to a duel?’

‘Yes,’ said Fido. ‘First of all, I’ll let him watch Odysseus get beaten in the Derby then I’ll send him off to Hell with whichever weapon he chooses.’

‘You’ll need to watch him. George comes from military stock.’

‘He’ll be no match for me, Kitty. He’s at least twenty years older and he drinks far too much. When I issued my challenge, I could sense that he was terrified.’

‘I’m the one who’s terrified. You might be wounded.’

‘I’ve fought duels before,’ he told her, ‘and I’ve always emerged from them without a scratch. Why are you so upset? Don’t you want Lord Hendry to be killed?’

‘Yes!’ she said with sudden rage. ‘Cut down without mercy.’

‘Leave it to me.’

‘I hate him. I don’t know why I ever got involved with George.’

‘You were dazzled by his title and his wealth.’

‘The title, perhaps,’ she confessed, ‘not by his money. He always seemed to be prosperous but I found out that he’d run up sizeable debts. It’s the reason he’s staking so much on the Derby. George believes it will help him pay off his creditors and still leave him with a substantial amount.’

‘Then he’s in for a massive disappointment, Kitty.’

‘Is there no way that Odysseus will win the race?’

Fido smirked. ‘Not if I have anything to do with it.’

‘George thinks the result is cut and dried. He’s so confident that his horse will be first that he’s even had a portrait of Odysseus painted. It’s already hanging somewhere in his house, I daresay. He said that I’d share in his triumph,’ she recalled with a cynical smile. ‘After the race, George promised to take me to Paris with the proceeds. Instead of that, I end up getting beaten across the head with his cane. Yes, I do want him killed, Hamilton,’ she said, clenching both fists. ‘My only regret is that I’m not the person to do the deed.’

Admiring her spirit, Fido kissed her impulsively. Then he walked across to a side-table and poured two glasses of brandy out of a crystal decanter. He handed one to Kitty and became pensive.

‘Tell me about this portrait of Odysseus,’ he said.

A heavy drizzle was falling when he arrived at the house in Camden. As she let him in, Madeleine Andrews sounded a note of mock reproof.

‘This is the second time you’ve brought rain, Robert.’

‘I’d hate you to associate me with bad weather,’ he said with gallantry, ‘because you always bring sunshine into my life.’

She laughed, thanked him for the compliment and accepted his kiss. Then she hung his damp hat on a peg behind the door. Sitting down beside each other, they held hands.

‘Have you been at Epsom all day?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ he answered. ‘There were more people there than ever.’

‘You did say that I might get to see the Derby this year.’

‘And I hope to honour that promise, Madeleine.’

‘What happened today?’

He told her about the attempted poisoning of Merry Legs and about his meeting with Brian Dowd. Shocked by news of the crime, she reserved her main interest for the comments about John Feeny.

‘He and Mr Dowd parted on friendly terms?’ she said.

‘That’s what Dowd claims.’

‘Well, it’s not what Bonny Rimmer told me. She heard it from Feeny himself and he had no cause to lie to her. He had to leave Ireland because he’d no chance of finding another job there. Mr Dowd said he’d make sure of that.’ She pulled a face. ‘Is that what he calls parting on friendly terms?’

‘I suppose there’s been no word from Bonny,’ said Colbeck.

‘Not yet.’

‘Do you expect to hear from her?’

‘I’m depending on it,’ said Madeleine. ‘When I spoke to her on Sunday, she was very emotional. She still hadn’t resigned herself to the fact that she’d never see John Feeny again. She wanted time to collect her thoughts. When she’d done that, she said she’d be in touch with me. I told her how vital that was.’

‘Did you give her this address?’

‘Yes, Robert, and I gave her the directions to get here. At first she was frightened at the idea of coming to a big city but I managed to still her fears. Since I knew she’d worry about the cost of travel, I took your advice and gave her the money you provided.’

‘It was the least I could do for her,’ he said.

‘That was typical of you.’

‘She’s a key witness, Madeleine. Bonny Rimmer knows things about John Feeny that nobody else could tell us. I’ll pay any travel expenses that she incurs.’

‘Has the superintendent given you your money yet?’

‘No,’ replied Colbeck dolefully. ‘I have to find the killer before Mr Tallis will refund my expenses. He still claims that my visit to Ireland was largely a waste of time.’

‘That’s ridiculous!’

‘Try telling that to him.’

She giggled. ‘After listening to some of the things you’ve said about him,’ she recalled, ‘I’ll avoid him like the plague.’

‘Even though he’s a colleague of yours?’

‘I don’t work for the Detective Department.’

‘Not officially,’ he said, ‘but you work for me and that amounts to the same thing. You’re the most charming assistant I’ve ever had.’

‘What about Sergeant Leeming?’

Colbeck laughed. ‘Even his wife wouldn’t dare to call Victor charming. Nature decided that. However, he’s everything a policeman should be and that’s all that matters in the long run.’

‘Where will you be tomorrow?’

‘Back at Epsom with Victor.’

‘Have you heard any talk about the Derby?’

‘We’ve heard little else, Madeleine. Everyone is talking about the prospects of Lord Hendry’s Odysseus – except Hamilton Fido, that is. He is as certain as can be that the favourite will be beaten. The odds may not reflect this but, in his heart – if a bookmaker can be said to possess such a thing – he believes that Merry Legs will win.’

‘Father is tempted to back Princess of Fire.’

‘Mr Fido says she’s only in the race for experience.’

‘Who will you be backing, Robert?’

‘I really don’t know,’ he admitted. ‘I’ve been trying to separate the horses from their owners in my mind and I’m finding that difficult. The horses are all fine animals, I daresay, but the owners are a rather unprepossessing trio. Lord Hendry is dry and aloof. Hamilton Fido is as trustworthy as a paper bucket filled with seawater. And Brian Dowd, I learnt today, doesn’t always tell the truth.’

‘So where will you put your money?’

‘I’m rather tempted by Aleppo.’

‘If I come to the Derby, I’ll cheer him to the echo.’

‘Don’t be so hasty, Madeleine. I haven’t decided on a horse yet. As for the Derby,’ he went on, ‘you’ll be there one way or another.’

‘Father will be very jealous. He’s working that afternoon.’

‘Then he should be grateful he’s not driving one of the special trains to Epsom. We travelled on one today. It was packed to capacity.’

‘But at least the trains do go to Epsom now.’

‘Yes,’ he agreed with a nod. ‘In the old days, you had to take the train out of Nine Elms Station, courtesy of the Brighton and Southampton Railway. When you got out at Kingston, the cab drivers charged you the most exorbitant fees to drive you the few miles to Epsom. All that’s changed now. You can catch a train at London Bridge Station and go all the way.’

‘I hope to do exactly that on Wednesday, Robert.’

He responded to her smile. ‘You will, Madeleine,’ he said fondly. ‘I just hope and pray that Bonny Rimmer comes to see you before then. We need her help. And there’s something else we need as well.’

‘What’s that?’

‘A period of calm before the Derby is run,’ he told her. ‘We’ve had enough crimes to deal with already. What we require now is a long, quiet, restful, law-abiding passage of time.’

Drizzle had turned into driving rain. It was so persistent that the dogs were locked in their kennels instead of being let out to roam around the house. In the middle of the wet, blustery night, everyone was fast asleep in bed. Nobody heard the shutters being forced nor the tinkle of glass as a panel was smashed to allow a hand to reach through. When the catch was released, the sash window was lifted right up and the thief clambered over the sill. Glad to be out of the rain at last, he looked around in the gloom.

‘Now, then, Odysseus,’ he said to himself, ‘where are you?’

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Lord George Hendry was absolutely distraught. Stunned, wounded and hollow-eyed, he sat in his library and stared up at the gilt frame that had once surrounded the portrait of Odysseus. The horse had now bolted. The frame still hung over the marble fireplace but the oil painting had been cut out and removed. He was inconsolable. Lord Hendry was not simply mourning the loss of his colt and of the large amount of money it had cost to immortalise the animal on canvas. To him, the theft was a dreadful omen. Odysseus might not, after all, win the Derby. Its owner was facing ruin.

It was still early morning when Inspector Robert Colbeck arrived at the house in response to the urgent summons. A servant showed him into the library but Lord Hendry did not even notice him at first. Colbeck had to clear his throat to gain his attention.

‘Good morning, my lord,’ he said.

The other looked up. ‘Ah, you’re here,’ he said dully.

‘When I heard the news, I came as quickly as I could.’ Colbeck glanced at the empty frame. ‘I can see why you’re so distressed.’

‘Distressed?’ Lord Hendry gave a mirthless laugh.

‘When was the theft discovered?’

‘Not long after dawn – one of the servants heard the shutters banging and got up to investigate. He found that someone had broken into the house through the dining-room window.’

‘I’ll need to see the exact spot.’

‘The alarm was raised and I came downstairs to face this catastrophe,’ said Lord Hendry, rising from his chair to point at the gilt frame. ‘Odysseus has been stolen.’

‘Was anything else taken?’

‘Isn’t this bad enough, man!’

‘Yes, yes,’ said Colbeck, ‘of course, it is, Lord Hendry. But I want to establish if the thief came for the sole purpose of stealing the painting or if it was only one of many items that went missing.’

‘Nothing else was taken, Inspector. He was after my horse.’

‘You have my sympathy – it was a magnificent painting.’

‘Odysseus is a magnificent colt,’ asserted Lord Hendry. ‘That’s something my wife has never been able to appreciate, I fear. When she saw what had happened, she was more concerned about the muddy footprints left on the carpets than about the theft.’

‘They could help us,’ said Colbeck, noting the clear footprints that led to and from the fireplace. ‘From the size of his boots and the length of his stride, I can see that we’re looking for a tall man with large feet. There’ll be more footprints in the mud outside to show from which direction he approached the house and where he left it.’

‘What use is that? It won’t bring my painting back.’

‘Oh, I think it will be returned eventually.’

‘Balderdash! It’s already been destroyed.’

‘I disagree, Lord Henry. If the thief were intent on destruction, then he’d simply have slashed the canvas to shreds. Instead of that, judging by the way it’s been cut out, he’s removed it with great care.’